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The Open Court 

Weekly Journal, 

1De^Jo\ed \o \i\e "Wot^l^ of Goqcilicitir]; 
l^cligiori ^itl] Scieqce. 

Vol. 11. ^ 



The Open Court Publishing Co. 







. Ednah D. Cheney. 

Anaesthetic Revelation, The. X 
Animal Soul and the Human Soi 

Aphorisms. Henry Byron 

Atoms and Molecules, The Indi' 

Axioms the Basis of Mathematics. 

iuality of. Rev. H. H. Higgins, M. A. 

loii, 1025 
Dr. Edward Brooks, of Philadelphia. 1456 

Banking System a Monopoly, Is the. Lyman J. Gage 

BayrhoJfer, Karl Theodor, and His System of " Naturalistic Monism," 

Edmund Montgomery 831, 865, 914, 

Body and Mind; or. The Data of Moral Physiology. Felix L. Oswald, 

M. D 771, 818, 850, 881, 895, 932, 963, 996, 1023, 1057, logo, in8, 1153, 

1 187, 1227, 1286, 1333, 1367, 1404, 1442, 

Bread Dear, Making. Wheebarrow 

Burns, Robert, The Ethics of. Gen. M. M. Trumbull 


Causality, Comments on the Editor's View of. Dr. Edward Brooks 1266 

Causes, How far does Science give us. Wm. M. Salter 1240,1253,1: 

Cell, The Psychology of the. Correspondence upon the Psychic Life of 

Micro-Organisms between M. Ch. Richet and M. Alfred Binet 1385 

Charity, The Ethical Basis of. W. Alexander Johnson 927 

Christianity and Monism. A Criticism of the Work of The Open Court 

by Dr. Gustav Carus, Superintendent GeneraJ of the State Church of 

Eastern Prussia 1379 

Consciousness. Dreams, Sleep, and. A Psychological Study. George M. 

Gould, M. D 1433, 1444 

Conservation of Energy in the Moral World, The. Georg von Gizycki. . . 1397 

Cope-Montgomery Discussion, The. A Summary _ . . 776 

Corporations, A Philosophical View of the Law of. Charles T. Palmer. 

1331, 1346 
Courts, The Importance of the Lower. Joseph W. Errant 773 

Darwin, Charles, On the Life and Letters of. A Paper read before the 
Literary and Philosophical Society of Liverpool, during the session 

of 1887-88. Rev. H. H. Higgins 1231, 1239 

Death and Life. Prof. Georg von Gizycki 1384 

Development Hypothesis, Goethe and the. Prof. Calvin Thomas 815, 

Dreams. Sleep, and Consciousness. A Psychological Study. George M. 

Gould, M. D 1433. 1444 

Drummond's Natural Law in the Spiritual World. James Herbin 1215 

Dualism, The last Ditch of. E. P. Powell 977 

Earthquakes, Falb's Theory of, and Le Sage's Theory of Gravitation. 

Wilhelm Stoss 804 

Economic Conferences. Wheelbarrow 

Elsmere, Robert, The Attack on. Wm. M. Salter 

Eternal Youth and Nature. Prof. Georg von Gizycki 

Ethical, The Basis of Charity. W. Alexander Johnson 

Ethics and Public Lite. Wm. M. Salter 

Ethics, Happiness and. E. C. Hegeler 

Ethics of Robert Burns, The. Gen. M. M. Trumbull 

Evolution and War. An Ethical Discussion. Prof. Calvin 


950. 993. 1 104 

lith. The Universal. In Mem 
Falb's Theory of Earthquake 

riam Courtlandt Palmer. T. B. Wakeman. 1391 
and Le Sage's Theoiy of Gravitation. 


Family, The Historical Development of the 
Fiction and Truth. The Element of Imagination in the Observation of 

Meteorites. Dr. M. Wilhelm Meyer, ot Berlin 1451 

Folk-Lore, Plantation. L.J.Vance 1029, 1074,1092 

France, Experimental Psychology in. A. Binet 1427 

Free Trade or Protection. Edward C. Hegeler 1283 

Free-will a Mechanical Possibility. Xenos Clark 975 

. Arthur Strong. 

Gaulish Pantheon, The Hibbert Lectures and the 
Generation Without Prospects, A. Morrison I. S 

Genius, The Development of. Lucien Arr^at 

Geometry, A Flaw in the Foundation of. Translated from the Serman 

of Hermann Grassmann 

George, Henry, And Land-Taxation. Wheelbarrow 

"* " " A Study in Folk-Lore. L.J.Vance 1247,1259, 


King. Wheelba 

God, Mathematical Demonstration of the Existence of. A Study in 
Logic. Barr Ferree 

Goethe and the Development Hypothesis. Prof. Calvin Thomas 815, 

Gravitation, Le Sage's Theory of, and Falb's Theory of Earthquakes. 
Wilhelm Stoss 

Gunning, Prof W. D., on Memory. From No. 13 of The Open Court .... 

Gunning, Professor William D. Memorial Address. Frederick May Hol- 


Happiness and Ethics. E. C. Hegeler 1169 

Hibbert Lectures and the Gaulish Pantheon, The. S. Arthur Strong 1297 

Homicide Justifiable. When is ? Charles K. Whipple 1236 

Human Soul, The Animal and the. Carus Sterne 945, 1007, 1039 

D. Conway 930 

I the Inventor. Wheelba 


Land-Taxation, Henry George and. Wheelbarrow 1415 

Law, The Uncertainty of the— Its Remedy. Charles T. Palmer 1238 

Le Sage's Theory of Gravitation and Falb's Theory of Earthquakes. W. 

Stoss 804 

Life and Death. Prof. Georg von Gizycki 1384 

Life, The Conditions of. W. Preyer 863, 916, 1076, 1407 

Love, Mathematics and. By * * * 1251 

'-ing Bread Dear. Wheelbarrow 1475 

MaKing Scarcity. Wheelbarrow 901 

Marriage Address, A. Wm. M. Salter 1319 

Marriage Problem, The. Prof. E. D. Cope 1307, 1320 

Masses as Reformers, The. Morrison I. Swift 1055 

Mathematical Demonstration of the Existence of God. A Study in Logic. 

Barr Ferree 1144 

Mathematics, Axioms the Basis of. Dr. Edward Brooks 1456 

Mathematics and Love. By * * * 1251 

Matter, The Fundamental Properties of. J. G. Vogt 820, 852, B97 

Matter and its Qualities. Edward C. Hegeler 854 

Memory, Prof. W. D. Gunning on 1359 

Micro-Organisms, The Psychic Life of. A. Binet. 

1127, 1139, 1151, 1199, I2n, 1223, 1235 
Micro-Organisms, The Physiological Function of the Nucleus in. Alfred 

Binet r343 

Mind, Body and. Felix L. Oswald, M. D. See Bodv and Mind. 

Mind is, What. Prof. E. D. Cope 99i 

Molecules, The Individualitv of Atoms and. Rev. H. H. Higgins . ..ion, 1025 
Monism and Christianity. A Criticism of the Work ot The Open Court 
by Dr. Gustav Carus, Superintendent General of the State Church ot 

Eastern Prussia 1379 

Monism and Religion: A Criticism. D. Theophilus, M. A 834 

Monism and Religion. A Reply to Theophilus. E.P.Powell 911 

Monism and Religion. A Rejoinder. D. Theophilus. With Editorial Re- 
marks 1179, 1192, 1205 

Monist, An English: Prof. Seeley of Oxford. Xenos Clark 899, 94B 

Monopoly, Is the Banking System a. Lyman J. Gage 978 

Moral Physiology, the Data of. See Body and Mind. 

Moral World, Conservation of Energy in. G. v. Gizycki 1397 

Milller and the Science ot Thought, Professor Max. By John Chappell- 

lith . 


National Taxation. Anti-Monopolist 778, 800 

Nature and Eternal Youth. Prof. Georg von Gizycki. 1403 

Neighbor, Understanding One's. Xenos Clark 780 

Nineteenth Century Club and its Founder, The. Moncure D. Conway 1394 

Nucleus in Micro-Organisms, The Physiological Function of. Alfred Binet 1343 

physiology. The Data of Moral. See Body and Mind. 

Plantation Folk. Lore. L. J. Vance 1029, 1074, 1092 

Proctor, Antonio Ricardo, Viro Prsedito Virtute Mnemosynon. M. C. 

G'Byrne 1232 

Protection, Free Trade or. E. C. Hegeler 1283 

Psychic Life of Micro-Organisms. The. A. Binet. 

1127, "39, 1151, 1199. 1211 1223, 1235 

Psychology in France, Experimental. Alfred Binet 1427 

Psychology ot the Cell, The. Correspondence between M. Alfred Binet 

and Ch. Richet 1385 

Public Lite, Ethics and. W. M. Salter 1071 

Reason, The Origin of. Ludwig Noir^. Translated from the German 879 

Religion, Monism and. D. Theophilus 834 

Religion, Monism and. Reply to D. Theophilus. E.P.Powell 11 

Religion. Monism and. D. Theophilus 1179, 1192, 1205 

ind Philosophy, The Unification of. M. C. O'Byrne 1419 

Freedom, The Founding ot Our. Moncure D. Conway. .. . 1163, 1175 

Russia i 

The An 


nd the Evangelic All 

i Clark. 

104 1 
Theodore Stanton oog 

Morrison I. Swift. . 


THE 0PP:N COURT— Index to Volume II, 


Scientific Thought, Transformation and Adaptation in. Prof. Ernst Mach. 

1087, ins 

Self-Evident, The. David Newport 1416 

Science, How far does give us Causes. Wm. M. Salter .... 12+0, 1253, 1263 

Shelley's Atheism. Alvan F. Sanborn 1189 

Shrinkage of Values, The. Wheelbarrow 1325 

Spiritualists' Confession, The. Moncure D. Conway 1295 

Sunday Laws. J. G. Hertwig. Rev. Byron Sunderland, and Rev. E lijti.. 1421 

Social Degeneracy, Symptoms of. Moncure D. Conway 1429 

Soul, The Animal and the Human. Cams Sterne 945. 1007, 1039 

Taxation, National. Anti-Monopolist 778, 800 

Trusts and Unions. Lyman J. Gage 959 


Trutn and Fiction. The Element of Imagination in the Observation of 

Meteorites. Dr. M. Wilhelm Meyer, of Berlin 1451 

Unions and Trusts. Lyman J. Gage 959 

Universal Faith, The. A Memorial Address upon Mr. Courtlandt Palmer. 

T. B. Wakeman I39l 

Values, The Shrinkage of. Wheelbarrow 1325- 

War and Evolution. An Ethical Discussion. Prof. Calvin Thomas 1355 

Women, The International Council ot. Moncure D. Conway 930 


Abstract Ideas, The Assay of 1422 

Agnosticism and Religion. A Discussion of 

the Field-Ingersoll Controversy and of Mr. 

Gladstone's Remarks upon the Same. 1042, 1059 

Art, Classical and Romantic 1095 

Bible and Free Thought, The 953 

BQchner, Prof. L., on Religion 965 

Causality, The Problem of izoo 

Causation, Is there Anything Unknowable in? 

In Reply to Mr. W. M. Salter 1254 

Causes and Natural Laws. In Reply to Mr. W. 

M. Salter 1240 

Celestial Language, The Grammarian of the 782 

Chicken and the Egg, The 854 

Christmas, Yule-Tide and 1367 

Cognition, Knowledge, and Truth 1458 

Cognition, Monism as the Formal Principle of. 1478 

Death, Love, Immortality 1324 

Determinism and Free Will 887 

Double Personality, The Problem of 1178 

Egg, The Chicken and the 854 

Eternity and Infinitude 870 

Ethics, The Marriage Problem and 1364 

Form and Formal Thought.. 1310, 1336. 1349, 1369 

Free Thought, The Heroes of 822 


Free Thought, The Bible and ' 953 

Free Will, Determinism and .- 887 

Goethe's Monism 782 

Gospels, The Source of the 1079 

Gunning, Prof.W. D., The Metnorial Service to 1278 

Idealism, Realism, and Monism 919 

Ideas, Abstract, The Assay of 1422 

Ignoramus and Inveniemus, not Ignorabimns 

or Invenimus 903 

Immortality, Death, Love , 1324 

Infinitude and Eternity 870 

Literary Discussion, The Ethics of J230 

Lost Manuscript, Gustav Freytag's Novel, The. 

E. C. Hegeler 999 

Love, Death, Immortality 1324 

Man and Nature, The Oneness of 1107 

Marriage Problem and Ethics, The 1364 

Mathematics, The Old and New 1468 

Matter and Force in Their Relation to Grav 

ity, The Significance of 803 

Metaphysics — The Use and Meaning of the 

Word 1313 

Mind, The Nature of 999 

Monism, Goethe's 782 

Monism, The Religious Character of. In Re- 
ply to the Criticism of Dr. Gnstav Carus. . . . 1381 
Mo.iism as the Formal Principle of Cognition. 1478 

Monism and Philology 884 

Morals, Religion and 981 

Nature Alive, Is ? In Reply to Mr. Salter 1264 

Oneness of Man and Nature, The. The Ethi- 
cal Aspect of Monism 1 107 

Personality, The Problem of Double 1178 

Persons, Natural and Artificial 1339 

Philology, Monism and 884 

Phonograph, The Mechanical Memory of the. . 1032 

Realism, Idealism, and Monism 9>9 

Religion, Agnosticism and 1042, 1059 

Religion, Prof. L. Buchner on 965 

Religion and Morals 981 

Religion and Science. A Resume 1217- 

Sensation and Memory I43r 

Social Problems 822 

Spencer, Herbert, on the Ethics of Kant. 1155, 1165 

Spiritism and Immorality 1360 

Stone's Fall, The 1256 

Superstition in Religion and Science 837 

Trag'edy and the Problem of Life 1120 

Yule-Tide and Christmas 1367 

Zero in Mathematics, The Function of 1146. 


Anaesthetic Revelation, The. M. C. O'Bvrne 1081 

Anesthetic Revelation. The. Xenos Clark 1122 

Anaesthetic Revelation, The. M. C. O'Byrne 1171 

Arnold's Criticism. Matthew. M. T 967 

Causation. With Editorial Notes. A. M. Griflfen 1289 

Cause and Occasion. With Editorial Remarks. Perry Marshall 1291 

Cause in Science and Religion, Final. E. P. Powell 1241 

Causality, The Problem of. Comments upon the Editorial of No. 55. M. 

A. Griff en. Editorial Remarks upon the Same 1242 

Cerebral Science. Jos. Rodes Buchanan 984 

Charity, The Ethical Basis of. Dr. Lindorme mo 

Charity, The Ethical Basis of. W. Alexander Johnson 1123 

Children's Theological Sayings. Xenos Clark S24 

Concord School of Philosophy. E. D. Cheney 1123 

Evil Spirits and Punishment of Sin. E. Cowley 982 

G izycki and Determinism, Prof. von. Prof. Wm. James 88g 

God's Existence, The Moral Argument for. Francis C. Russell and J. B. 

Dunn 1170, 1171 

Goethe's Thrill of Awe. Prof. Calvin Thomas 1063 

Goethe's Thrill of Awe. Clara B. Colly 1122 

Goethe's View of Immanence. Dr. Lindorme 855 

Gunning, Prof. William D. Mrs. Mary Gunning 127S 

Gunning, Prof. W. D., and The Open Cojjrt. Mary Gunning 1340 

Hegeler, Mr. E. C, Answer to Friend David Newport on Politics and Re- 
ligion 1327 

Immortality, An Inquiry Concerning. S. Brewer 840 

Income Tax, No Individual. Benj. Doblin 840 

International Council of Women. E. D. C 921 

Liberalism and The Open Court. A Liberal 856 

Life, The Origin of, and the Problem of Memory. C 1048 

Marriage, Inequality in. Zekanah 1480 

Marriage Contracts for Time, Prof Cope's Proposition of M M E 1363 

Marriage Contracts, Mrs. M, M. E. on. Prof. E D. Cope iii 1462 

Marriage Contracts, Prof. Cope on. M. M. E 1423 

Marriage Time-Contracts. Prof. E. D. Cope 1387 

Marriage, Social Opportunities and. George Wilson 1481 

Matriarchate, The. Matilda Joslyn Gage 1480 


Matter and Form. L. A. Fisher 983 

Matter and Reality. C. F. Woodward 1034 

Mechanics. Object of. Henrv H. Higgins 905 

Memory, The Problem of. and the Origin of Life. C 1048 

Mendacity, The Physical Basis of. H. R Porter, M. D 1482 

Mind and Consciousness. Edmund Mont|omery 787 

Mind. The Physical Basis of. Prof. E. D. Cope in Reply to the Editorial 

in No. 40 of The Open Court 1034 

Monism, The Philosophy of. W.W.Richmond 788 

Monism, A Reader of "Three- Score-and-Ten briefly Defines his. L. A. 

Fisher 872 

Monism and Henism. C. T. S 967 

Muller, Max, on the Science of Thought. Rev. H. W. Thomas 1171 

Natural Religion and Monism. Otto Wettstein 983 

Newport, Friend David, on Politics and Religion. With Mr. E. C. Hegeler's 

Answer 1327 

Obedience and Judgment. E. Cowley 905 

Open Court. The Title and its Propriety. A Monist 824 

Open Court, or Monist. G. H. Scheel 856 

philosopher of New England, A meeting with the Transcendental. 

Wheelbarrow 1170 

Philosophical Club of Montreal. The. Mary Morgan (Gowan Lea) 1447 

Postulates vs. Axioms. Francis C. Russell 1482 

Poverty, The Source of. A Reply by Wheelbarrow 1218 

Religion, The Secularization of. Briefly Reviewed. J. Albert Stowe 786 

Religion of the Friend, The. David Newport 1064 

Religion, Conciliation ot, with Science. W. W. Richmond 903 

Space, An Inquiry about the Infinitude of. L. T. Ives 872 

Spiritualistic Comments. T. W. W., and Lay Reader 1362 

Tax, Is the Single, the Sole Cure? Reply to Mr. Levy. Wheelbarrow.. 1278 
Theology and Morality 982 

Wheelbarrow, A Criticism of. Sol. Levy 1207 

Wheelbarrow, Rejoinder to. Sol. Levy 1278 

Wheelbarrow, A Series of Questions Addressed to. C. B 1279 

Wheelbarrow in Answer to the above 1279 

THE OPEN COURT— Index to Volume II. 



Ambition. A Sonnet. Louis Belrose, Jr 1412 

August 15. 1875. Louis Belrose, Jr 1480 

Birth of Satan, The. William Schuyler 903 

Byron. Louis Belrose, Jr 1460 

Cervantes. Louis Belrose, Jr 1460 

Creed, A. Clifford Lamont Snovvden 781 

Death and May. Louis Belrose, Jr 823 

Dream-Beech. The. A Fairy-Tale. After the 

German of Richard Leander 1464 

Eternity. Louis Belrose, Jr 1135 

Fable, A. Louis Belrose, Jr 1048 

Future Life, A. Louis Belrose, Jr 1351 

Guide-Post, The. A Fable. Hudor Genone.. 1182 

Heavenly Rest. Wm. Schuyler 92r 

Idols. *** 1048 

Immortality. Translated from Goethe 1351 

Introduction to a Poem. Louis Belrose, Jr. . r302 

Job's Prayer. Clinton Collins r375 

Lost Manuscript, The. Continued from Vol. I 
through Vol. II. 

Marriage Problem, The. Louis Belrose, Jr.. 1472 
May Day Wishes: Song. To Louis Belrose, Jr. 889 

Measure of Time, The. James Buckham 1398 

Midsummer. Louis Belrose, Jr 1183 

Mother Songs, Three. Charles Stuart Pratt. 

From Prang's Baby's Lullaby Book 1376 

My Three Friends. Carmen Sylva (Elizabeth, 
Queen of Roumania). Translated from 
the German by Mary Morgan (Gowan Lea). 1315 

Parable, A. Louis Belrose, Jr ir94 

Parables. Translated from the Arabian. 

Henry Byron 839. 1042, rl95 

Philosophy, My. Louis Belrose, Jr 1033 

Religion, A New. * * * looi 

Rhyme of Thomas the Doubter, A. William 

Herbert 1422 


Sage and Fool. W. D. Lighthall 1351 

Shelley. William Brunton 1460 

Sonnet. Louis Belrose, Jr 971 

Sonnet, A. Louis Belrose, Jr 1015 

Sonnet. Louis Belrose, Jr 1217 

Sonnet. Louis Belrose, Jr 1375 

Sonnet. Louis Belrose, Jr 1398 

Sonnets of Winter Tide. Mary Morgan (Gowan 

Lea) 1472 

Stars, The 1080 

Sub Specie ^ternitatis. Wm. Schuyler 872 

To Death. David Atwood Wasson 807 

Victor Hugo's Creed. Translated by Row 854 

What doth Remain? David Atwood Wasson. 840 
Wish-Ring, The. A Fairy-Tale. After the 

German of Richard Leander 1396 

Three. From Goethe and Schiller's 

i-Almanach. By * '*' * 1423 


Airy, Osmund. The English Restoration and Louh 
Alaux, J. E. Esquisse d'une Philosophic de L'Etre., 

America's Younger Poets 

Arnold, Matthew. Essays in Criticism 

Arr^at, Lucien. Journal d'un Philosophe 

Atkinson, W. P. The Study of Politics 


Bacon, Thos. Scott. The Beginnings of Religion 1017 

Balzac. Modeste Mignon iii 1126 

Beaussire, Emile. Les Principes du Droit 1398 

Bellamy, Edward. Looking Backward— 2000-1887 906 

Bierbower, Austin. The Virtues and their Reasons iii 1246 

Binet, Alfred. Animal Magnetism 984 

Blaisdell, Albert F. First Steps with American and British Authors 1018 

Blake, Elizabeth, and Sullivan, Margaret F. Mexico: Picturesque, Politi- 
cal, Progressive 1291 

Boissier, Gaston. Madame de Sevign^ 1183 

Bray, Rev. Truro. Essays on God and Man 1233 

Bret Harte. A Phyllis of the Sierras 841 

Brigham, William T. Guatemala, the Land of Quetzal 1017 

Brinton, Daniel G. Facettes of Love: from Browning iii 1414 

Brown, Alice. Fools of Nature 789 

Brown, Helen Dawes. Two College Girls iii 1126 

Burnett, F. Hodgson. Sara Crewe 1017 

Burnham, Clara Louise. Next Door , 1018 

Burdick, H. R. The New Statement 968 

Cable, George W. Bonaventura 1002 

Caro, E. George Sand 1183 

Charities, Organized, of Lynn, Mass., Rules and Suggestions for the 937 

Cheney, Ednah D. Louisa May Alcott, "The Children's Friend'' iii 1270 

Clodd, Edward. The Story of Creation iii 1426 

Conway, Moncure D. Chapters of History in Life of Edmund Randolph, iii 1314 

Corvin, Otto v. Weltgeschichte 1017 

Cusack, Mary Francis Clare. Nun of Kenmare. (Note) iii 1402 

Joshee 1082 

nd Fire iii 1378 

Economic Conferences Between Btftness Men and Working Men. ( Note) 937 

Eltester, H. Materiahen aus dem Kattchumenen-Unterricht lOoi 

Everett, C. C. Poetry, Comedy, and Duty 1327 

F^r6, Charles. D^g^n^rence et Criminality 1065 

F^r^, Charles. Animal Magnetism 985 

Foote, G. W. Infidel Death-Beds iii 1426 

Foote, Mary Hallock. John Bodewin's Testimony 1328 

Frederick HI. of Germany. (Note) 1051 

Froude, James Anthony. The English in the West Indies 857 

Garafalo, R. La Criminologie 1065 

Gerhard, Frederick. The Death Penalty iii 11 14 

Gizycki, Prof. Georg von. Moral-Philosophie 1327 

Gizycki, Prof. G. von. Kant and Schopenhauer iii 1210 

Grassberger, Hans. AUerlei Deutsames 1017 

Gunlogsen, Prof. Alb. H. (Note) iii 1114 

Gunning, Prof. William D. (Obituary) 938 

Guyan, M. Obituary 1002 

Haberlandt, Michael. Der Alt-Indische Geist 1017 

Hewes, Fletcher W. Citizens' Atlas of American Politics iii 1258 

Himmel und Erde. Illustrated Monthly iii 1450 

Hoernes, Dr. Moritz. Bosnia and Herzegovina iii 1474 

Holmes, Nathaniel. Realistic Idealism in Philosophy Itself 1399 

Howells, W. D. The Minister's Charge 1018 

Howard, Blanche Willis. Aulney Tower 1233 

Huxley, Prof. T. H. The Struggle for Existence; a Programme go6 

Johnson, Rosseter. A Short History of the War of Secession 1303 

Kerr, Chas. H. A Pure-Souled Liar 1050 

King, Thomas Starr. Substance and Show 968 

Klemm, L. R. Chips from a Teacher's Workshop 1017 

Knortz, Karl. Die Deutschen Volkslieder und M^rchen iii 1474 

Koerner, Ex-Governor. (Note) iii 1414 

Krauss, Dr. Friedrich S. Croatia and Slavonia iii 1474 

* The Roman numerals iii indicate that the articles thus Indexed are to t 


Ladd, G. T. What is the Bible ? 1016 

Le Conte, Prof. Joseph. (Note) iii 1402 

Leroux, Ernest. Eugene Bodichon 1050 

Lowell, James Russel. Political Essays iii 1246 

Lowell, James Russel. Heart's ease and Rue 968 

Lyon, (iieorges. L'ld^alisme en Angleterre au XVIIIe Sifecle 1291 

Mach, Prof. Ernst. (Note) 1082 

Margaret Kent, The Author of. Queen Money 1002 

Martineau, James. A Study of Religion 1015 

Matthews, Brander. Cheap Books and Good Books 1016 

McCulloch, Hugh. Men and Measures of Half a Century 1352 

Mead, Edwin D. The Roman Catholic Church and [he School Question.. 1327 

Meredith, George. Sandra Belloni 1081 

Metaphysics. ( Note) iii 1354 

Mitchell, Richard M. The Safe Side iii 1246 

Miller, Olive Thane. In Nesting Time 1050 

Moscheles, Felix. Felix Mendelssohn's Letters iii 1246 

Miiller, F. Max. Biographies of Words and the Home of the Aryas 825 

Miiller, F. Max. My Predecessors 1303 

Naville, Adrien M. De la Classification des Sciences. Etude Logique. iii 1386 

Oliphant, M. O. W., and T. B. Aldrich. The Second Son 857 

Oswald, Felix L. Zoological Sketches 1018 

Pall Mall Gazette, Prof. Huxley's Letter in iii 1438 

Palmer, Courtlandt. (Note) iii 1402 

Pfleiderer, Otto. Grundriss der Christlichen Glaubens- und Siltenlehre 

(Rudiments of Christian Dogmatics and Ethics) iii 1222 

Piatt, John JameS. Idyls and Lyrics of the Ohio Valley 856 

Prang &. Co., L. Baby's Lullaby Book iii 1366 

Prang & Co., L. The Home of Shakespeare ". iii 1366 

Prel, Carl du. Die Monistische Seelenlehre 1016 

Proudhon, P. J. System of Economical Contradictions or the Philosophy 

of Misery 1016 

Sand, George 1183 

Sayrs, Mrs. Henry. (Obituary) 939 

Say, Leon. Turgot iii 1474 

Schaff, Philip. History of the Reformation iii 1282 

Schindler, Rabbi Solomon. Dissolving Views in the History of Judaism. 986 
Schopenhauer. A. Le Monde comme Volonte et Representation. Vol. i.. 

Vol. II 1226. iii 1426 

Schroter. George Ludwig Edward. (Obituary) 938 

Schuiz, Fritz. (Obituary) 939 

Seaver, Horace, Occasional Thoughts of iii 1450 

Shaw, Albert. The National Revenues iii 1138 

Sill, Edward Rowland. Poems 841 

Simon, Jules. Victor Cousin iii 1366 

Sorel, Albert. Montesquieu iii 1366 

Stevenson, Robert Louis. Virginibus, Puerisque and other Papers. Mem- 
oirs and Portraits; Memoir of Fleeming Jenkin 789 

Sullivan, Margaret F. Mexico: Picturesque, Political, and Progressive. 1291 

Suttner, B. von. Inventarium einer Seele ^ iii 1414 

Taylor, Edward. Is Protection a Benefit? 1081 

Taylor, Saladin and Joseph. Why am I an Agnostic? t iii 1426 

Thickstun. Frederick. A Mexican Girl 1233 

Thompson. D. G. The Religious Sentiments of the Human Mind 1015 

Thoreau. Henry D. From the Journal of lVinte7- 788 

Tyler, Moses Coit. Patrick Henry 841 

Vance. L.J. (Note) iii 1366 

Watson. John. LL. D. The Philosophy of Kant 1292 

Weber, Dr. Alfred. (Note on Religion) iii 1282 

Weber, Dr. A. Die Religion als Wille zum Ewigen Leben 1195 

Webster's Dictionary iii 1210 

Westbrook, Richard B. Girard's Will and Girard College Theology 1002 

Weston, S. Burns. (Note) 1303 

Weyer, Otto W. Die Englische Fabrik-Inspektion iii i486 

Whipple, Edwin Percy. Outlooks on Society, Literature, and Politics.. 890 

Wilkie, Frank B. The Gambler 1050 

Witherspoon. Orlando. Doctor Ben 1302 

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Among the nations of the East, tradition has pre- 
served the memory of a flood so destructive that the 
present world hesitates to credit the record of its devas- 
tations. The time may come when our children will 
find it equally difficult to realize the horrors of the 
moral cataclysm which for nearly fifteen hundred years 
submerged the homes of the Caucasian race with a 
deluge of madness and superstition. 

The highlands of science have emerged from that 
flood, but the foot-hills are still covered with the wrecks 
of a former civilization; the sediment of prejudice still 
attests the high- water marks of mental degeneration, and 
the present age can bear witness to the emotions of 
mingled doubt and delight at the appearance of an arc 
of promise in the form of a religion of science. The first 
gleam of that sunburst has long cheered the friends of 
light with the hope of an ultimate victory over the pow- 
ers of darkness. For more than two hundred years the 
delusions of anti-naturalism and its utter inefficiency for 
the regeneration of mankind, have become more and 
more evident to all independent thinkers. They could 
not fail to perceive that the precepts of a world-despis- 
ing Messiah were a fatal obstacle to the material 
progress of mankind. They could not ignore the fact 
that the systematic suppression of secular science had 
avenged itself by a far-gone marasmus of intellectual 
decrepitude. They could not ignore the evidences of 
physical degeneration, induced by the utter neglect ot 
that health-culture that had for ages sustained the 
prestige of pagan civilization. The authority of Jesuit- 
ism rested almost entirely upon the alleged moral value 
of its tenets, a claim sadly at variance with the evidence 
of practical experience, but still tacitly accepted by a 
generation inoculated with the dogma of natural deprav- 
ity. The apostles of science, however, have begun to 
question both the premises and the inference of that 
doctrine, and the last support of the mediaeval delusion 
. will hopelessly collapse as soon as a plurality of its 
victims shall realize the fact that the gospel of anti-nat- 
uralism is the most immoral^ as well as the most mind- 
enervating and health-blighting of all known supersti- 

tions. The depreciation of physical education opened the 
door to efl^eminacy and all its concomitant vices. The 
suppression of healthier pastimes became a direct cause 
of intemperance and sexual aberrations. The encourage- 
ment of mendicancy and procrastination undermined the 
moral basis of industry. The doctrine of passive sub- 
mission to injustice became a main-stay of despotism. 
The instinct of truth was crushed out by the dogma of 
salvation by unreasoning faith. The promptings of 
humanity were suppressed by the dogma of eternal 
punishment, and the alleged sinfulness of our natural 
affections. The instinct of justice was perverted by the 
dogma of predestination. 

But the most fruitful cause of the moral degenera- 
tion that made the era of monasteries the darkest page 
in the history of mankind was, after all, the totaUneglect 
of physical science, especially of that branch of physiology 
which teaches the manifold 

interaction of body and mind. 

The dualism of ancient moralists proved for centuries 
a root of baneful delusions. The Brahmins, the priests 
of Egypt, and many Gnostic philosophers, as well as the 
seers and prophets of Islam, considered the " soul " a 
mere guest of the body, a heterogeneous entity apt to 
survive the decay of its earthly tabernacle. They 
believed in the existence of a spirit- world extraneous to 
material creation and often neglected the revelations of 
nature in their effort to fathom the mysteries of 

But the apostles of anti-naturalism went further. 
Their moral cosmogony makes the body the enemy of 
the soul and systematically contrasts the interests of 
earth and the " Kingdom of Heaven." In the language 
of asceticism the " world " and the "flesh" are synonyms 
of sin; the suppression of our natural instincts is persist- 
ently inculcated as a primary condition of salvation; the 
abasement of the body is distinctly enjoined as the best 
means of securing the promotion of spiritual welfare. 
The anti-physical principle of the New Testament is, 
indeed, the key to the enigma of the most monstrous aber- 
rations of mediaeval theology, and the keystoneof a world- 
redeeming religion of science should be the truth that 
the highest moral and the highest physical welfare of 
mankind can be only conjointly attained. 

The empirical knowledgeof that fact has at last been 
bought at a price which the world cannot afford to pay 



a second time. The unnatural restraint of convent-life 
resulted in such hideous nightmares of hysterical super- 
stition that their memory still haunts the dreams of the 
Caucasian nation like the after-effect of a brain fever. 
The alcoholic excesses of the mediaeval priesthood 
avenged themselves in a depth of intellectual abasement 
that made the name of a monk a by -word among the 
t mperate nations of Islam. The inhuman oppression of 
the bondsmen enslaved by the system of clerical feudalism 
bore its fruit in the butcheries of the Peasants' War and 
the French Revolution, and ripens an aftermath in the 
doctrines of Anarchism and Nihilism. The moralists 
that ranted about the golden streets of the New Jeru- 
salem permitted their own towns to reek with filth till the 
" immortal souis," as well as the despised bodies of their 
dupes were assailed by appalling epidemics — plagues, 
i-courging manias, dancing manias, contortion-fits and 
manias of suicide. For centuries the insane suppression 
of physical recreation on the day when a vast plu- 
rality of workingmen find their only chance of leisure 
has driven millions to drown their misery in the Lethe 
of mtoxication, and thus, by the direct influence of fanat- 
ical anti-naturalism, produced the very evils which the 
exponents of that creed denounce as the result of natural 

For the strictest followers of a Nature-hating 
Messiah, the pagan ideal of a "healthy mind in a 
healthy body," has, indeed, been perverted into the para- 
gon of a world- renouncing soul in a crushed body; but 
even for the millions who modified that extreme of in- 
fatuation with some alloy of practical secularism, the im- 
aginary antagonism of body and soul remained, and still 
remains, a source of baneful misconceptions. The science 
of the thousand fold moral effects of physical causes is 
still a sealed book to a large plurality of our fellow-men, 
and it is curiously characteristic of the anti-physical bias 
of their hereditary ethics, that at the same time they are 
ready, not only to admit, but to exaggerate, the physical 
effects cf moral causes. A semi-conscious tendency of 
their mental constitution inclines them to emphasize the 
influence of the " immaterial soul " on the despised, 
earth-begotten body, and to deny, or ignore, the evi- 
dences of a reflex-influence. The revivalists of medi- 
aeval phantasms surfeit us with their accounts of 
miraculous cures effected by the " Christian faith " of 
the patient. Our mesmerian miracle-mongers expatiate 
upon the physical transformations induced by the mere 
volition of the magnetiseur. The metamorphoses of 
the Ovidian fairy-tales are rivaled by the portents of 
media3val church-legends. At the mere prayer of an 
orthodox saint blind men regain their sight, cripples their 
lost limbs, beldames their lost youth; consumptives are 
resurrected from their beds of disease, and even corpses 
from their tombs. Thousands of scrofulous natives of 
mediaeval England hoped to cure their ailments by the 

benediction of the lawfully anointed sovereign, and a 
modern King of Spain endeavored to remedy the bar- 
renness of his nuptial couch by embroidering a petticoat 
for an image of the Holy Virgin. Spanish strategists 
even attempted to compensate the inefficiency of their 
marines by baptizing their line-of-battle ships with ful- 
some-saintly names. The dogmatists of our Southern 
swamp-States still include piotracted prayer-meetings 
among the specifics for tlie cure of climatic fevers, though 
in less fervid latitudes the therapeutic use of homilies 
seems to be limited to their substitution for the soporifics 
of the drug market. The sinfulness of free inquiry is still 
illustrated by numerous anecdotes commemorating the 
fate of unbe'ievers struck dumb in the act of abusing 
their organs of speech to the detriment of clerical in- 

The moral effects of physiological predispositions, on 
the other hand, are strangely underrated. Of a thousand 
splenetics who bemoan the vanity of earthly existence,, 
perhaps not a dozen suspect that their pessimism could 
be cured by a slight change of diet. The carnivorous 
missionary who preaches the gospel of meekness to an 
assembly of Hindoo peasants, hardly dreams that the 
vegetarianism of his heareis more than compensates the 
lack of dogmatism. The pious father who hopes to 
protect his boys from worldly temptations by robbing 
them of their holiday sports, would be amazed to learn 
that his very asceticism is apt to increase the danger of 
secret vices, as naturally as the exclusion of fresh air in- 
creases the peril of dry-rot. The moral bias of race in- 
fluences has hardly begun to be recognized in the 
theories of our international reformers; and men who 
would laugh at the idea of raising a young hyena for 
watch-dog purposes, nevertheless hope to cure the savage 
propensities of a young Hottentot by prayers and 
Sunday-school text-books. They would not waste their 
time in trying to gather figs from thorns, yet devote 
years to the attempt of appealing to the sentimental in- 
stincts of men who have been starved into chronic rancor,^ 
and who by ages of oppression and imposture have been 
taught to assume the defensive armor of universal mis- 
trust. The moral influence of climate is an agency 
equally unknown to the moralists who preach continence 
on the Senegal and frugality on the banks of the Neva,, 
and who berate the natives of the Arctic snow-wastes 
for their lack of Arcadian trust of the bounty of Provi- 
dence. Nor has their philosophy ever recognized the 
intuitive contrasts of youth and old age. "After seeing 
his children and children's children," says the law of 
Menu, " a world-weary man shall retire to the peace of 
solitude, and devote the end of his life to contemplation 
and daily communion with the spirit of Brahma." But 
our spiritual task-masters attempt to enforce the instincts 
of decrepitude upon the mind of earth-loving youth; they 
darken the morning hours of life with the gloom of 



night; the ministers of Quietism gather dead leaves to 
smother the budding flowers. 

But the most neglected branch of moral physiology 
is certainly the study of the moral and mental effects of 
pathological tendencies. The contrasts of the psychic 
phenomena in health and disease have no place in the 
science of our moral philosophers; the traditional prej- 
udice of dualism seems to shrink from the recognition 
of the striking analogies of moral and physical changes 
under the influence of abnormal conditions. The 
opponents of Monism are loath to admit that the func- 
tions of the " immortal soul " can be modified by sani- 
tary arrangements, that its vigor declines with the vigor 
of the body, that many of its special faculties can be 
stimulated or annihilated by surgical operations; that 
every modification of physiological conditions is accom- 
panied by a corresponding change in the disposition of 
the "immaterial spirit." The vice-begetting tendency ot 
suppressed physical instincts is still obstinately ignored. 
The influence of abnormal habits on the vigor of voli- 
tion, on the principles of self-respect, of benevolence, and 
even of integrity, are unknown factors in the diagnosis 
of our moral quacks. 

Our entire system of moral education needs, indeed, 
a thorough revision, and the success of urgent social and 
ethical reforms depends on the radical reconstruction of 
moral philosophy on a basis of natural science. 



People of to-day are very much worried about the 
higher courts, although that system of courts in which 
the mass of the people meet the law and become ac- 
quainted with its practical administration are — to say the 
least — of no less significance. I dislike to use the term 
lower or lowest courts. To me one court is as important 
as another, and if any distinction is to be made, it should 
be in favor of those so-called lowest courts. It all depends 
from what standpoint we view the matter. The stand- 
ard to-day is largely the money standard, and the im- 
portance of a court seems to be measured by the amount in 
dollars and cents over which the court has jurisdiction. 
If we could but realize that a claim for $io sometimes 
involves more of human justice than a claim for $ioo,- 
ooo our views might possibly change. To-day ques- 
tions concerning property and property rights occupy 
men's minds. When will they allow questions of right 
and justice to men and women to enter into their con- 
siderations? In the turmoil of a wonderful material 
development, we have thought too little of such ques- 
tions. Only a month ago, in an address before the 

•The above essay is an abstract of an address entitled "Justice for the 
Friendless and the Poor," which was delivered before the Illinois State Bar 
Association, January nth and before the Society of Ethical Culture ol Chicago,, 
January a9th, i8S8. As a result of the above mentioned address a movemcnthas' 
been started and is already well under way to organize a bureau of justice iu 
Chicago. As soon as possible an office will be opened in which " the Friend- 
less and the Poor *' will gratuitously be advised and helped to obtain justice. 

Alabama State Bar Association, Judge Dillon gave 
statistics to show that nearly one-half of the modern 
reoorted cases involved corporation law. 

It therefore becomes important to consider that sys- 
tem of courts, in which the people gain their impres- 
sions of justice practically applied. 

Let us then consider the justice of the peace system of 
courts. In Chicago we have also a system of police 
courts, in which are heard cases brought in by the po- 
lice. Cases involving violations of local ordinances are 
heard in these courts. Justices of the peace are usually 
elective officers. In Chicago we have a round-about 
method by which the judges of the courts of record 
recommend names to the Governor, and the Governor by 
and with the advice and consent of the Senate appoints. 
Certain justices named by the Mayor and approved by 
the common council are appointed to preside in the police 
courts. For the services there rendered the city pays 
them a regular salary. They do not, however, devote 
themselves exclusively to the police courts. They carry 
on their private justice of the peace business besides. 

The law does not require a justice of the peace to 
possess any special qualifications for the position, nor is 
it necessary that he should be a man who is versed in 
the law. If he has any qualifications, or if he is a law- 
yer, this is simply accidental. Indeed, in the eyes of the 
profession a lawyer who accepts the office of justice of 
the peace is considered to have lowered himself. This 
sentiment is not at all creditable to the profession, for 
by it men who would honor it are prevented from ac- 
cepting the office. In fact, such a feeling toward the 
position of a justice of the peace is an injustice to those 
men who accept these positions and endeavor to do their 
duty conscientiously. If things do not go right, it is 
often because the system makes them its unwilling vic- 

As soon as the justice has received his commission, 
he rents and furnishes a room, hires a clerk, hangs out 
his sign and announces himself as ready for business. 
If he is his own successor or if he can rent the room of 
his predecessor in office he is spared some of the prelim- 
inary work. He must pay all his expenses and make a 
living besides. He has no fixed income. He is abso- 
lutely dependent upon his fees. It is hard to imagine a 
system better calculated to destroy every idea of judicial 
dignity or independence. 

A system is wrong which allows Blank, Brown and 
Jones to enter into a scramble for a judicial office, in 
which scramble it is often merely a question of political 
influence as to who obtains the office. A system which 
compels a man to work to obtain a judicial position and to 
work to retain it is wrong. There is a fierce strife for 
the position of justice of the peace in Chicago. Every 
manner of influence is used to retain positions or to 
crowd out present incumbents. Such a system induces 



schemes and combinations which are demoralizing to 
any judicial system. A system of courts in which the 
services of the judges are paid for by the fees which 
they receive is wrong. The astounding spectacle is 
presented of a judge asking for patronage. Some of 
the justices have a large patronage — others have a small 
patronage. There is a direct inducement offered to 
men to attempt to obtain business in some way or other. 
Influences are used and promises are made. Every 
favor done him places the justice under obligations to 
some one. 

It has occurred to me that we might adopt the idea 
of the " district courts" of New York City. The juris- 
diction could be raised above that of the present justice 
of the peace courts and could be extended in other direc- 
tions. In this way the circuit and superior courts could 
be relieved. " The judicial tribunals of this State will 
never possess the dignity or command the confidence 
which they should until all our judges are appointed 
during good behavior. There should be a chance for a 
judicial career just as there is for any other. But what- 
ever plan may be adopted, remember that that system 
of so-called lower courts is just as important as any 
other. Place there men of wide knowledge, human 
sympathy and special training. Upon the respect felt 
toward the so-called lower courts depends the respect 
felt toward the whole judicial structure. 

With an improved system of courts must come a dif- 
ferent order of officials to do the work of those courts. 
The present constable system is a disgracefully irrespon- 
sible system. Nominated at the end of the proceedings 
of a town convention, when most of the delegates have 
gone home, almost any one can have his name placed 
upon the ticket. Very few know or care to know who 
the men are. I should be in favor of electing a chief 
constable. I should hold him responsible and allow him 
to appoint his assistants. Either this, or I should be in 
favor of enlarging the sherifFs duties. 

But there are other questions to be considered. Let 
us, for instance, suppose the case of a poor girl who has 
been discharged from employment by a man who has 
not paid her wages for several weeks. He feels that 
the poor girl will not be able to compel him to pay 
and he can pocket the wages. There are men who un- 
derbid competitors in business, employ help and think 
to make up the difference in this way. There are dress- 
makers who employ girls for a number of weeks, and 
then send them away, refusing to pay wages on the 
ground that the girls' work was poor. There are fash- 
ionably-dressed ladies who do not pay a poor dress- 
maker, and the poor dressmaker cannot spend the time 
which must be devoted to her work in collecting or 
suing for her hard-earned money. But let us return to 
the case of our poor girl. She goes to see the man sev- 
eral times, but he refuses to pay. In some way or 

other she finds her way to the office of a justice of the 
peace. She enters a room. The justice may be at leis- 
ure or he may be occupied in the trial of a suit. She is 
not helped either way. There are other men in the 
room, a clerk, constables, so-called attorneys, etc. She 
speaks to one of them; he may be the justice, the clerk, a 
constable, or one of the numerous " shysters" who hang 
about every justice's court-room. It is all a matter of 
accident. She tells her story. She has no money. 
The justice may enter her suit without fee; he 
may not. She does not know where to obtain two dol- 
lars. She goes away discouraged. She may have fallen 
into the hands of some shark, who agrees to b^gin suit 
for her, because he has an agreement with the justice by 
virtue of which the justice only receives a fee in case he 
gives judgment for the plaintiff. Suppose she obtains 
judgment. The execution is placed in the hands of a 
constable who may collect the money, or he may be 
paid by the defendant to wait. At last the money is 
collected. The so-called attorney retains almost all for 
his services. The remainder is handed over to her. 
Sick at heart on contemplating the result of all her trouble, 
she resolves never to enter a court-room again. She 
cannot understand the ways of justice. She had an idea 
that all that was necessary was to tell the judge and he 
would soon have the money for her. But she found 
out that she had to come several times, that she had to 
wait for an hour or two about the court-room, that she 
had to wait twenty days after judgment was entered 
before an execution could be issued ; that she had to 
wait many weeks before the money was collected, and 
at last when it comes to her it is a third or fourth of 
the original amount. Or suppose the employer appeals, 
and thus postpones action for a year or more, as in Chi- 
cago, what is she to do? While all this has been going 
on she has fallen behind in her rent. She may have 
found a new situation at once. Perhaps she has not. If 
the employer had paid the wages due her she could have 
lived thereon several weeks. Now she is compelled to 
seek charity or worse. Suppose the employer sees fit 
to fight the case. He engages an attorney, who endeav- 
ors to secure numerous continuances in order to weary 
the plaintiff. If she is alone, she soon succumbs. If she 
has an attorney, she may be pressed by him to settle, for 
he feels that there is very little money in the case for 
him; he wants what he can get now; he does not wish 
to see the case appealed. 

This is no fancy picture. 1 could go on and give 
you case after case; in which men and women have the 
same or similar experiences, in their search for justice. 
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people have heard of 
the experiences of others and carry their wrongs in their 
breasts, believing that they cannot obtain justice. They 
have lost confidence in the law and its administration 
and will not even attempt to secure justice. The case 



above detailed is a case involving a small claim. I have 
shown you what the collection of such a claim means to 
the poor and friendless. There may be cases involving 
property, reputation or grievous wrong. To ask people 
to engage an attorney or pay costs when they have no 
money, to ask them to follow up a case by themselves 
when they have not theslightestideaas to what they shall 
do or where they shall go, to allow them in their search 
for justice to fall into the hands of the unscrupulous, 
when it can be prevented — all this is a practical denial of 
justice. To tell people that a case has been continued 
or appealed without any fui'ther explanation, when they 
never heard the words used in that way, is a farce, and 
yet that is all the satisfaction people sometimes obtain. 
They do not like to ask many questions. They are 
rather timid in a court-room. They go away without 
understanding what is to be done. Many people are 
fearful and nervous about entering a court-room. They 
have heard of lawyers' cross-examinations and other 
things and, rather than submit themselves to such treat- 
ment, they forego a right or suffer a wrong. 

As to the higher civil courts, they are almost an un- 
known land to the poor and friendless. Appealed cases 
they are compelled to abandon. Suits within the juris- 
diction of the higher courts, they have no means to 
bring. Now and then a damage suit brought by some 
poor person on an agreement with an attorney for one- 
half or one-third of the proceeds finds its way into our 
higher courts. Unless they are entered on such terms, 
the higher courts are practically closed to the poor and 
the friendless. 

The justices of the peace in their capacity of exam- 
ining magistrates have many criminal cases brought 
before them. I shall not have time to consider that 
branch of the subject, nor is it necessary. Let us sup- 
pose the case of a poor man whose house has been en- 
tered, and whose hard-earned savings have been stolen. 
He finds his way to a police station and makes com- 
plaint. A warrant is issued, the guilty parties arrested 
and brought into court. A day is set for the hearing; 
the complaining witness is told to come with his wit- 
nesses ; he comes, but on some point or other the hearing 
is continued. Again he comes; again the case is con- 
tinued. Finally the hearing takes place, and the defend- 
ant is bound over to the grand jury. After some time 
the complaining witness is notified to appear before the 
grand jury. He has already lost many days' wages, 
and his witnesses begin to object. Perhaps he has been 
paying them the wages which they were compelled 
to lose through absence. Perhaps he himself, or some 
one of his witnesses, has lost a situation through absence. 
It may be that he gives up the case at this point. We 
■will suppose that he goes on. He and his witnesses ap- 
pear, the case will not be heard to-day but to-morrow. 
Again they come. The accused is indicted. Some 

weeks pass and then the poor wage-worker is notified 
that the trial is to take place on such a day. He ap- 
pears with his witnesses and has to wait until the case is 
called for trial. He may have to wait for several days. 
At last the trial is over. The wrong-doer has paid the 
penalty. The law has been vindicated, but at what 
cost to the wage-worker who can ill afford to lose a 
single day's wages. 

The poor and friendless defendant who is brought 
into the police court with the strong hand of the police- 
man upon him and with no friend or attorney at his side 
is in a sad plight indeed. He is usually hurried off to 
the bridewell or the jail. It is simply astounding to think 
of the injustice which is being done under the system of 
to-day. The last grand jury in Cook county reported 
thirty-nine true bills and seventy-four no bills. A large 
number of the persons covered by the seventy-four no 
bills had probably been spending a month or two in the 
jail awaiting the action of the grand jury. 

The highest reform idea of the average police official 
of to-day is to arrest a person and place him behind the 
bars. This is his panacea. I could tell you of cases in 
which police officials have been astonished that any 
other course should be suggested. All their investiga- 
tions are conducted with an eye to the accomplishment 
of their purpose. As a general thing, such investigation 
is the only guide the justice has, and hence he becomes 
the victim of the present methods. The police officials 
must be taught differently. Our police officers, and cer- 
tainly the higher officials, should be selected with a 
special eye to their fitness, their judgment, their powers 
of discrimination; with such men to support him, the 
examining judge could better perform his duties. 

In the good old days of the New England colony 
the people were accustomed to come together and con- 
sult about the public welfare. Their affairs were of a 
most simple character, and Smith and Brown and Jones 
could easily attend to the duties assigned to them with- 
out neglecting their own business. A century and more 
has passed away, and the town-meeting idea of govern- 
ment still survives. Brown, Smith and Jones are still 
deemed capable of stepping from their various pursuits 
into positions requiring adaptation and training. It is 
time for us to realize that such a state of things cannot 
continue. The methods adapted to the wants of 
the New England village will not answer for the 
populous cities and States of to-day. At the sug- 
gestion of civil service reform the American citizen sees 
before him the picture of an aristocracy of office-holders. 
I believe in civil service reform from the bottom to the 
top. It is the survival of antiquated methods of provid- 
ing ourselves with public officers which has raised about 
us tyrannies more damnable than any which can possi- 
bly come from the establishment of our public offices on 
a different basis. I refer to that curse of our day — polit- 



ical influence. The system of to-day, with its many elect- 
ive offices and short terms of service, tempts men in 
public position to conciliate this interest or that, to be- 
ware of offending this man or that, to listen to the com- 
mands of this political leader or that. Men cannot call 
their souls their own. This political influence meets 
you everywhere. It makes the wheels of justice go 
fast or slow, or not at all. It opens doors as by magic, 
or keeps them closed. It sits with the prosecutor in the 
court-room or visits him in his private office. It com- 
mands the judge on the bench. When will the Ameri- 
can people do away with the system which has cursed 
us too long.'' You, who are on the outside, sometimes 
wonder at this or that failure of justice, at this or that 
persecution. These things are brought about by influ- 
ence. You yourselves are equally responsible with the 
men who are using the system for their own purposes. 
It is your privilege to reject or retain it. The poor and 
the friendless have no influence. 

Do not believe that it is simply a question of the 
poor and the friendless against the rich and the influen- 
tial. It is also a question of the poor and the friendless 
against the wicked, the cunning, the dishonest and the 
unscrupulous, not in one class, but all through the social 

It is then necessary for those who would stand for 
justice to stand for it against injustice, wherever it may 
be found. They should feel with Theodore Parker: 

" Give me the power to labor for mankind, 
Make me tlie moutli of such as cannot speak ; 
Eyes let me be, to groping men and blind, 
A conscience to the base, and to the weak 
Let me be hands and fett; and to the foolish, mind. 
Who will take up the work of creating conditions 
by which the poor and friendless will be able to contend 
on equal terms with those who have wronged them? 
These matters must not be left to chance. It is danger- 
ous to do so. It must be the business of some one to see 
that these things are done. 

The State is now giving its money and protection to 
institutions which pretend to cure existing maladies. 
The day will come when it will prefer to give its sup- 
port to those causes which endeavor to prevent diseased 




The following is offered as a synopsis of the leading 
opinions maintained by the writer in a series of articles 
furnished by him to The Open Court during 18S7, in 
reply to articles written by Dr. Edmund Montgomery. 


I. In the universe there exist both mind and matter, 
subject and object. 

2. The evidence for the existence of mind is found 
in consciousness; first, of ourselves, and second, of other 
living beings, whose motions, identical with those which 
we make under the influence of our own consciousness, 
convince us of their possession of it. 

3. The evidence for the existence of matter is found 
in certain modifications experienced by our conscious- 
ness, especially in the sensations of extension and resist- 

4. Since consciousness does not exist apart from 
the motion of matter, we regard it as a property of the 
matter in motion, that is, as a property of energy. 


1. The gross activity of consciousness is immedi- 
ately conditioned by matter. 

2. In certain of its thought-forms consciousness is 
not immediately conditioned by matter, but only by its 
past experience of matter. 

3. The forms of consciousness mentioned under (2) 
control the direction of energy, and hence the use of 

4. The proof of (3) is seen in the designed move- 
ments of animals in which they direct a current of en- 
ergy in order to produce a result more or less exactly 
adapted to satisfy the conditions demanded by a sensa- 

5. As soon as a designed movement has been fully 
acquired, that is, so soon as the animal mechanism neces- 
sary for its production has been created, it is performed 
without consciousness of effort, and may be performed 
unconsciously, or even in a state of general unconscious- 
ness. Therefore designed automatic acts originated in 

6. Evolution of organic types is the resultant of 
the interaction of subject and object, or the living or- 
ganism and its environments. 

7. The function of the organism in evolution is to 
produce variations in its structure as an effect of its mo- 

8. The function of the environment in evolution is 
to destroy the organism, or to restrain, permit or en- 
courage its use; that is, to exercise natural selection. 

9. The effect of this interaction, where the move- 
ments of the organism are stimulated, is to produce 
specialized structures and types out of generalized ones. 
Where the action of the organism is not stimulated, the 
result is to produce degenerate types. 

10. It follows that organic evolution is the result, 
mediate or immediate, of consciousness; that is, of the 
interaction of conscious energy or its residua, the organic 
vital energies, in interaction with the environment. 

1 1 . Organic energies perform chemical syntheses 
and analyses, demonstrating the control of vital over 
chemical energy. 

1 2. Whereas physical and chemical energies dis- 



play only as results dissipation of energy and integration 
of matter, the energy of evolution displays complication 
of matter for the profitable direction and storage of 


1. The function of control and construction dis- 
played by the energy of evolution (bathmism) leads U'^ 
to infer that this type of energy can control its condi- 
tions sufficiently to enable it to have a wide distribution 
in space and time in the universe. 

2. Since the originating and controlling element of 
this special type of energy is consciousness, it is inferred 
that consciousness has existed prior to any given special 
inorganic type of energy. 

3. As the condition of consciousness is the unspe- 
cialized or uncreated condition of energy, it is inferred 
that consciousness is a property of matter in an unspe- 
cialized or generalized condition in some respect. 

4. Since protoplasm is not in all respects the most 
generalized conceivable condition of matter, it is inferred 
that there are physical bases of consciousness other than 

5. It is inferred from the preceding considerations 
that the existence of primitive consciousness in primi- 
tive forms of matter is not only possible but probable, 
and this consciousness constitutes a primitive person or 



I will endeavor to comply with the request of the 
president and the editor to give the gist of my contro- 
versy with Professor Cope in about a column. 

Professor Cope maintains that mind is the active 
agent in the organization of living beings. I maintain, 
on the contrary, that the mind of living beings is itself 
only a product or outcome of their organization. 

Professor Cope's view leads him to assume as orig- 
inal building-material an entirely "unspecialized" kind 
of matter, and as builder or organizer a supreme mind 
or Deity inherent in such matter. 

In this connection I had to point out the great di- 
lemma of modern philosophy ; the impossibility, namely, 
of conceiving anything mental imparting motion or 
direction to anything material. Leading thinkers of 
almost every school, when seriously contemplating the 
apparent occurrence of an intercommunication between 
mind and matter, have declared it scientifically impos- 
sible and philosophically inconceivable. Yet, Professor 
Cope's entire theory of organization through mental 
agency rests on the flat assertion of its being a self- 
evident proposition, that our mind moves our body. 

I further pointed out that to escape from this distract- 
ing dilemma of having on the one side a mind incapable 
of naturally acting upon matter, and on the other side 

matter incapable of naturally acting upon mind — that 
to escape this dead-lock in the way of a unitary or mo- 
nistic conception of nature, a theory of cognition is indis- 

By help of such a theory we become irrefragably 
aware that matter and motion are only perceptual signs 
within our own consciousness of the presence of a non- 
mental existent and its activity, which are stimulating 
our senses in specific ways. We can be certain that 
what thus affects our senses is really wow-mental in its 
nature; for nothing mental has power to affect our senses 
and to awaken specific percepts in us. This non-mental 
existent and its activity cannot possibly, in the remotest 
degree, resemble their perceptual representation in us; 
for how can anything non- mental resemble anything 
mental ? Therefore, they are not in themsel ves what we 
perceptually know as mattgr and motion. And thus the 
conception of mind moving matter becomes at once 
irrelevant. The dualistic opposition of matter and mind 
is seen to be superficial, and only due to inadequate con- 
ception on our part. 

These truths, yielded by the theory of cognition, I 
have used to explain our voluntary movements, upon 
which movements the entire question of the influence of 
our "mind" on our body actually centers. 

Our veritable being has power so to affect the sen- 
sibility of an observer as to arouse its perceptual repre- 
sentation in him. This perception of the observer, in all 
its details, forms clearly part of his own consciousness; 
but it representatively corresponds to the characteristics 
of the non-mental existent, which is stimulating his senses. 

Now, it is evidently the transient activity or fttttc- 
tion of that part of the pertnanent living' being which 
we perceive as his nerve-system that yields to him all 
his conscious states. 

While this functional play of inner awareness is tak- 
ing place in the observed organism, the observer himself 
perceives nothing but motion; motion of molecules 
in the nerve-system, and dependent movements of 
peripheral parts of the organism, such as features and 

" Mind " or consciousness is thus a functional outcome 
of the organization of living beings, and its development 
is found to keep strict pace with the progressive organ- 
ization of living forms. 

The only comment which I have to make on Dr. 
Montgomery's argument is this: That while denying 
that consciousness can control energy (matter), he admits 
that matter controls consciousness. These two positions 
are logically inconsistent. If the affirmative is true of 
consciousness it is true of matter, and vice versa. On 
other points I can agree fully with Dr. Montgomery. 

E. D. Cope. 





The United States of America is a free and inde- 
pendent country, where the State does not mean any- 
thing outside of or superior to the citizens forming the 
same, but a mere compact of the latter for their mutual 
protection in the full and unabridged enjoyment of all 
their natural, inherent and inalienable rights. In such a 
country, where the people govern themselves by laws 
and principles adopted by them, and where all the pub- 
lic officers of the legislative, executive and judicial 
branches of the government are not rulers but servants 
of the people, public life should be as pure as private 
life, public affairs should be conducted as truthfully as 
private affairs, and politics should be strictly moral. 

With the sanction of our American Constitution, the 
United States was afflicted ^t^ith the institution of negro 
slavery, up to our late civil war, caused by it, but in 
return causing the abolition of that fiendish institution 
in this free country. Utterly incongruous with justice, 
liberty and humanity, negro slavery, while it existed in 
the United States, was in reality or practically a monop- 
oly in favor of the slave- holders and at the expense of 
the slaves. A monopoly means an unjust privilege of a 
monetary character for the benefit of some men and at 
the expense of others. The former slave-holders of this 
country had the right to buy and sell their slaves as 
chattels and not to pay them any wages for their work ; 
while the former slaves of this country were deprived 
of liberty, of the right of property on their own persons, 
of the right of receiving wages for their labor, of the 
right of being educated, and of the right of founding 
homes and families. Our American civil war has clearly 
shown what ruinous things monopolies are to a free 

The United States is now afflicted with monopolies 
based upon and being fostered by our American /ro/ec/- 
ive tariff. By such a tariff duties are meant, our 
national government levies on foreign imported goods, 
not only for its own support and for the payment of our 
public debt, but also for the so-called protection of our 
American industry, chiefly of the mechanic and manu- 
facturing kind. Such a tariff, enhancing the prices of 
foreign imported goods, enables American producers 
and manufacturers to sell their own goods of the same 
sort dearer than they could do otherwise, and compels 
the people generally to pay higher prices for such goods, 
foreign or domestic, than they would have to pay for 
them without such a tariff. Under the fundamental 
laws of this country, the Declaration of Independence 
and the Constitution of the United States, our national 
government has no business to lend its hand to such a 
trick, profitable to certain classes of men, but detrimental 
to the American people as a whole. In fact, under 
the fundamental laws referred to, our national govern- 

ment has no right to raise revenue for any other pur- 
pose than for its own support and for meeting its legiti- 
mate obligations. 

American mechanic and manufacturing industry, by 
the good qualities and cheap prices of its products, 
should protect itself, both at home and abroad, against 
the competition of foreign industry. The American 
people, what they need of manufactured goods, should, 
by all means, produce themselves, as far as the natural 
resources of this country enable them to do so. There 
are heads and hands enough in the United States for 
such a purpose. Both self-respect and economy should 
cause the people of this country, financially, industri- 
ally and commercially to emancipate themselves from 
Europe and the rest of the globe as soon as possible. 

American mechanic and manufacturing industry 
should have for its products not only a home market, 
but as extensive as possible a market in foreign coun- 
tries, too, just as our American agriculture has it for its 
products. Thus, useful employment would be perma- 
nently given to a great many men in this country. But 
this is prevented, at present, by our protective tariff, ren- 
dering American goods too dear for consumers abroad. 

Commerce is a cosmopolitan institution, and nations, 
like the American people, obstructing its paths to their 
own fabrics by too high prices of the same, hurt them- 
selves in their material welfare. Are the artisans and 
mechanics among the American people less intelligent, 
less ingenious, or less industrious than those of other 
nations? Not at all! Cheaper prices of American 
manufactured goods and a larger and readier sale of 
the same, both at home and abroad, could and would 
only favorably affect the prosperty of this country. 

A protective tariff should protect the home industry 
of this country by enhancing the prices of domestic goods 
and thus the wages of wage earners, and by lessening 
or preventing the importation of foreign manufactured 
goods, which have also to bear the cost of transporta- 
tion to this country. Yet, such a tariff merely benefits 
the proprietors of factories, and not their so-called work- 
ingmen, too. By the bye, in a free country there should 
be only workingmen and not drones of society, because 
useful employment, not idleness, is life's real problem. 
Useful work, however, does not exclude the social 
enjoyment of life, by amusement or recreation, at the 
proper time. 

Those proprietors of factories by no means equally, 
in a co-operative manner, share their profits with their 
operatives. They, as a rule, pay the latter what they 
please or see fit, and no law of arbitration can compel 
them to pursue another course in this respect. In the 
hands of those proprietors, by a protective tariff, capital 
unjustly accumulates, rendering them monopolists, and 
at the same time unduly laying the fate of their laborers 
into their hands. Favoring the few at the expense 



of the mnny, a protective tariff will never be in 
harmony with the free institutions of this country. 
It opposes the cardinal principle of our American free- 
dom, laid down in the Declaration of Independence, 
namely, the principle of equal rights for all in all mat- 
ters of public concern, that is, matters affected or to be 
affected by law. A protective tariff, producing afflu- 
ence among the manufacturers and pauperism among 
their workingmen, separates, by law, the people of this 
country into rich and poor, capitalists and laborers, as 
classes, and thus practically creates a class distinction. 
Under its operation, the social life and the social educa- 
tion of this country will never be what they should be. 
It is true, however, that no so-called laborer or work- 
ingman of this country should consider himself a hired 
man for life. Every one of them should unceasingly 
try, by energy, industry, and circumspection, to become 
independent in business and his own boss, even if he do 
not succeed. Farming, for supporting a man more 
directly than any other kind of work, is doubtless the 
most natural and most satisfactory of all human employ- 
ments. For this reason, the farmers of this country are 
the most contented and most independent men among 
the American people. 

There is no sense or truth in large, overcrowded cities 
of this country, with its yet thinly settled territory, 
taken as a whole. Such cities represent wealth very 
unequally distributed, but not necessarily education, 
money being only a means of civilization, and not civili- 
zation itself. They promote the progress of science and 
of useful arts to a certain extent, but they are also hot- 
beds of crime and vice. The capital, by unfair and un- 
just national legislation, in the shape of a protective 
tariff, amassed and amassing in such places, induces poor 
people to flock there from less favored localities in pur- 
suit of their happiness, which they, with few exceptions, 
can and will not find in those cities. Is this a worthy 
aim of the political economy of this free country? 

A protective tariff, for enhancing the prices of for- 
eign and domestic goods, renders the hard-earned money 
of the masses of the American people cheap. But dear 
money, purchasing a large quantity, not cheap money, 
purchasing only a small quantity of goods for the same 
sum, should be the leading principle of the political 
economy of this country. It most benefits the masses 
of the people. An over-coat keeps a man just as warm 
if it costs only ten dollars, instead of twenty dollars, that 
is, the same over-coat, — and an orange, that is, the same 
orange, tastes just as good if it costs only one cent, in- 
stead of two cents. The ratio of the purchasing power 
of money and of the selling power of goods is an in- 
verted one: if money is dear, goods are cheap; if goods 
are dear, money is cheap. The real value of money 
consists in its circulation for legitimate business pur- 
poses. The observance of the principle of dear money. 

just stated, could and would not prevent at all the 
American people from becoming possessed of as much 
gold and silver coin, or, in other words, real money, as 
possible; a state of affairs which is, of course, very de- 
sirable for this country. When our national debt will 
be finally paid, the United States notes (greenbacks), for 
forming a portion of the same, and the national bank 
notes, for being secured by government bonds, will dis- 
appear. In their stead, the American people should 
have an ample amount of paper currency, consisting of 
gold and silver certificates, based upon deposits made 
by the people with the government of gold and 
silver coin, and being redeemable in their respective 
coin at any time. 

In this connection a few remarks may be ventured 
on the silver question. The American silver dollar, as 
to its bullion value, is at present greatly depreciated, in 
comparison with our American gold dollar. For this 
reason gold coin does not circulate so freely in this 
country as silver coin, the people, when making pay- 
ments, always selecting the intrinsically less valuable 
coin of the two, to do so. Congress, therefore, should 
make the bullion value of silver dollars, to be coined in 
the mints of the United States, as nearly equal to that of 
gold dollars as this, in consideration of the fluctuating 
price of silver, can be done. Gold, as the more val- 
uable of the two metals named, is the standard money 
of the leading civilized nations of the globe, our own 
American nation included, both at home and in their 
commercial intercourse with each other. It, therefore, 
would be an easy thing for the nations referred to to 
unite upon a common or equal ratio between the value 
of gold and silver. Yet, it appears that they are not 
willing to do so. Money being power, nations are as 
zealous and jealous in money matters as private individ- 
uals. The American people, therefore, are compelled 
to find an expedient of their own for coining silver dol- 
lars in bullion value as nearly equal as possible to gold 
dollars. How would the following suggestion do in 
this respect? Let the present compulsory coinage of 
silver dollars by our national government be stopped 
forever. Let, in the same manner as we have free coin- 
age of gold, also free coinage of silver be established at 
our American mints, enabling private parties, defraying 
the necessary expenses, to have as much silver coined 
there as they choose. Let Congress annually, accord- 
ing to the current price of silver, equalize the bullion 
value of the silver dollars, to be coined in our American 
mints, during the fiscal year following, with that of the 
gold dollar. Let annually, provided it become neces- 
sary annually, a change be decreed by Congress in the 
coinage of the silver dollar as to its bullion value, 
whenever the same should have become less or more 
valuable by three per cent, than the gold dollar. As to 
ascertaining the current price of silver, it may be stated 



that the United States Treasury Department daily re- 
ceives a cable dispatch from London, England, by which 
it is informed of the price of silver there, which is con- 
sidered as the standard for the current price of this metal 
in this country. The government would, of course, have 
to receive all depreciated silver dollars presented to it in 
payment of public dues. Yet, it should make all its own 
silver payments in the correct silver dollars described, of 
the latest coinage, as far as it might have them on hand, 
and it should gradually recoin depreciated silver dollars 
formerly coined into silver dollars having the latest bul- 
lion value decreed by Congress. Silver dollars over- 
valuable, as stated above, as to their bullion contents, 
whenever there should be any such in its possession, 
should also be recolned by the government into correct 
silver dollars. The correct silver dollars described might, 
to a certain extent, also go to foreign countries. Free 
coinage of the same would, of course, not prevent at 
least as many of them being coined at our American 
mints as depreciated standard silver dollars, under com- 
pulsory coinage, are being coined there now. Such an 
independent, although very tedious financial policy, 
firmly adhered to by the American people, might, in 
the course of time, force the European nations to make 
the desirable agreement, relating to the silver question, 
they now decline to make voluntarily. 

The bulk of the revenue of our national government 
is derived at present from duties levied on foreign im- 
ported goods (customs), and from taxes levied on domes- 
tic articles; namely, on tobacco, prepared for use, and on 
alcoholic beverages (beer and whisky) produced in the 
United States (internal revenue). Strangely, and not 
in harmony with our American principle of equal rights 
for all, in all matters of public concern, the internal rev- 
enue is derived only from those so-called luxuries and 
not from other products of this country. Yet, to suc- 
ceed in their business, the producers in the United States 
of the luxuries referred to must be as industrious as the 
producers of necessaries of life. Besides, as free men, 
they are entitled to exactly the same immunities as all 
their American fellow-citizens. Justice, therefore, forbids 
their productions to be taxed and others not. Whisky 
not subject to taxation would not mean free or gratui- 
tous whisky, because the consumer would have to pay 
for it also when not taxed to the producer, although a 
lower price. In reality, neither of the two sorts of lux- 
uries named — tobacco and alcoholic beverages — seems 
to be worth a high price. 

From the foregoing discussion it is to be seen that 
neither the customs system nor the internal revenue sys- 
tem of our national taxation is very practical or rests 
upon a sound and rational foundation. 

(TV) be continued.) 

Poetry is more earnest and more philosophical than 
history. — Aristotle. 



If the proper study of mankind is man, then, as the 
nearest man, one's neighbor naturally suggests himself 
as an object of examination and reflection in spare 
moments. . People ordinarily imagine they know their 
neighbors pretty well, but this is apt to be an illusion; a 
neighbor, in fact, is generally an uncomprehended 
entity; even his hat is different from our hat, and how 
much more that complex garment, his mind. To under- 
stand this mind as it is in itself, though a difficult mat- 
ter, is, of course, what we all should attempt, instead of 
thinking it a mere dumb appendage of our own lives. 
If, for instance, our neighbor is commonplace, instead of 
contemning him it may be better to ask why he became 
so, and whether he suspects it, and what effect the sus- 
picion has on his mind. Is he, for instance, a young 
man weakly aware that Nature has clothed him with 
inferiority, and does he walk through life with persist- 
ent, half-foolish consciousness of being at the foot of the 
class? For one to comprehend such a life, not from 
one's own standpoint, but from the possessor's, is to feel 
a nameless, mother-like pity for the victim. 

Or perhaps this neighbor is commonplace in the 
conceited way, which thinks it knows everything 
because it knows nothing. To argue such a neighbor 
out of a misconception is like getting a pig to market, 
and so the pig gets anathematized. This, however, is 
not comprehending the pig; and if one ceases anathema 
and turns to comprehension, it will be seen that the pig 
thinks he is right and cannot help what he does. Per- 
haps after all the best way with an ignorantly disputa- 
tious person is to humor him in his conceit. Let him have 
his pleasure; accept his opinions; confirm them by unsus- 
pected instances; poor, conceited fellow! you are the 
first person who ever agreed with him; he will blossom 
like a rose with delight, and will greet you with a smile 
for months afterwards.' 

To a man with theological leanings his neighbor's 
creed is always a matter of interest, but this, too, is 
likely to be viewed in an external and uncomprehending 
way ; and what is asked is not. Why does he have his 
creed .'' but, Why does n't he have mine ? This is to forget 
that our neighbor is an independent being with a mind 
and heart of his own ; with an inner history of which we 
know little; and with perhaps a whole range of feelings 
inscrutable to our experience. Here, for instance, is Mr. 
Matthew Arnold, one of the most rational of neighbors; 
and yet he exasperates his American readers by advo- 
cating the retention of the Church of England, and even 
its retention as a state church. By an effort at compre- 
hension, however, it is revealed that what impresses Mr. 
Arnold is the role his English state church 
has played in fostering a cultivated life among the clergy 
and the people; and this role no one can go to England 



or to English literature without observing. It is as much 
a part of the country as the soft greenness of the land- 
scape, or the impressive prevalence of well-established 
amenities in family life. Moreover, Mr. Arnold knows 
that the Church of England is a very elastic institution 
with a power of progressive growth; and he humors it 
as one humors a good man of great influence but partly 
mistaken opinions, in order not to lose the influence of 
this good man, and with the hope that his opinions will 
gradually change for the better. 

If our neighbor is a commonplace man, his creed, of 
course, is commonplace. Yet in its poor old way how 
much it may help him, who perhaps would fare but 
poorly on our rational diet. Our commonplace neigh- 
bor knows little of Truth with a capital T, although he 
will give reasons for his creed if you drive him to it, as a 
hen takes to water in extremity, and will even refuse to 
give up a single one of its particulars. But we shall be 
more commonplace than he if we suppose that he really 
prays to God when he goes to bed every night for these 
reasons. On the contrary, this creed is simply his be- 
cause it was his father's, or because his wife taught it to 
him, or because when a young man some " experience 
meeting " changed him from a careless youth to a seri- 
ous believer. And since that time he has taken his bath 
every Sunday morning, and then gone to church with 
his wife and children, and it makes him feel right and 
good; and so he believes his creed must be right and 
good, too. 

Quite a different person is our opinionate neighbor, 
though he too will repay an unselfish effort to compre- 
hend him. An early result of this effort is the percep- 
tion that it is foolish and useless to argue with him, is 
time thrown away for no result save exasperation on 
both sides. Though a man perhaps of excellent charac- 
ter, yet he is to be pitied. All the graces of intellectual 
modesty and self-doubt are lost to him ; all the openings 
for intellectual growth are closed; the happiness of giv- 
ing up an erroneous opinion, the joy of receiving a gift- 
thought from another he never can know. The mind of 
this opinionifte neighbor resembles a bin full of crooked 
sticks; intellectual conversation for him consists in ex- 
hibiting to you these sticks one by one and insisting on 
their straightness. Instead of uselessly doubting him, 
which will bring on a fight, hammer and tongs, it is 
better to change the subject happily ; in fact there is no 
pleasure like the discovery, so frequently possible, that 
inside the crooked fence of his " views " our opinionate 
neighbor has a mellow and blooming plot of ground, a 
kind heart. And if he has not, then of course it is all 
the more pitiful, especially in relation to his family; for 
to his wife, to his brother, to his children, the obstinately 
opinionate man is a sorry trial indeed. He resembles 
a crooked gun; the only way any one can obtain what 
any one wishes from him is by aiming away from the 

mark. Thus, after all, his most surprising trait is his 
blindness, for he goes through life compelling every one 
to deceive him and play upon his vanity, and yet with- 
out once suspecting it. 

Beyond question the greatest good a man can derive 
from an unselfish effort to comprehend his neighbor, a 
commonplace or opinionate one, for instance, is the dis- 
covery, sure to come about, that he himself in some par- 
ticular is commonplace or opinionate also. This is a bitter 
thought, but proves tonic when swallowed frankly. 
The old felicity with which one contemplated his neigh- 
bor's shortcomings is now suddenly clouded by the 
reflection that if the neighbor is so calmly unsuspicious 
of his faults, such may also be the case with one's self. 
Though disillusioning, to any one with a sense of humor 
this experience is amusing too ; and, what is more, it marks 
progress in character. Another effect of the attempt to 
see a neighbor's life inwardly is a sudden realization of 
what a blundering and misconceiving world this is; for 
it now occurs to us, like a revelation, that our neighbor 
possibly suffers the same pains of miscomprehension that 
have been bitter to our own heart. We have been 
thought surly when we were simply ill, or proud when 
simply hiding trouble, or unfaithful when driven by a 
hidden necessity; so, too, may it be with our neighbor 
as we have falsely seen him. A man on realizing this 
thought feels a sudden swelling of his heart toward 
his neighbor. Dear neighbor, he says, how blind I 
have been to your real life; I have not thought of you 
as if you were a human being at all. I have been wrapt 
up in the narrowness of my own mind, and only just 
now have I discovered it. 

Perhaps this thought is the beginning of a new and 
more comprehending life — a life in which all humanity 
is seen as one's neighbor. 



Hold Honor with thyself, nor fear 
That thou shalt others wrong; 
Hold Honor with thyself and feel 
That thou, the weak, art strong. 

Hold Honor with thyself and know 
Man will behold in thee 
A AAIMQN prompting all thy deeds, 
A power just and free. 

Hold Honor with thyself and learn 
Men bound with Right are strong; 
Right bound with Right in motive pure 
Conquers a world of wrong. 



The Open Court. 

A KoRTNiGHTLY Journal. 

Published every other Thursday at 169 to 175 La Salle Street, (Nixon 
Building,) corner Monroe Street, by 


EDWARD C. HEGELER, .... President. 


This Journal is devoted to the work of conciliat- 
ing Religion with Science. The fotmder and editor 
have found this conciliation in Monism, to present 
and defend ivhich will be the main object of THE 

Terms of subscription, including postage, three dollars per 
year in advance. 

All communications and business letters should be addressed to 

The Open Court Publishing Company, 

p. O. Drawer F, Chicago, Illinois. 



The famous scientist Haller, who lived in the end of 
the eighteenth century, was a forerunner of La Marck, 
Treviranus, Karl E. von Baer, and others, who were the 
first to discover and state that evolution is the universal 
law of life and growth. In spite of his sound judg- 
ment and stupendous knowledge in natural philosophy, 
Haller had not yet freed himself from the metaphysical 
skepticism of his time; he believed, as most of his con- 
temporaries did, in the fundamental unknowableness of 
natural phenomena. A verse of his, which expressed 
this at that time popular opinion, was well known and 
frequently quoted. It is as follows: 

" Nature's 'within' from mortal mind 
Must ever lie concealed. 
Thrice blessed e'en he to whom she has 
Her outer shell revealed. 

Goethe could not be reconciled to this view, which 
splits Nature in twain and places us as well as our in- 
quiring mind outside of Nature, as if we were locked 
out from her secrets for ever. He replied to Haller's 
verses in a short little poem, which is not so much 
known as it deserves to be: 

"/«'5 Innere der Natur" — 

O du Philister!— 
'■'■Dringt kein erschaffner Geistf'' 

Mich und Geschwister 

Mogt' ihr an solches Wort 

Nur nicht erinnern; 

Wir denken : Ort fiir Ort 

Sind wir im Innern. 

" Gluckselig ! ivem ste nur 
Die dussre Schale iveist !" 
Das hor' ich sechzig Jahre wiederholen. 
Ich fluche drauf, aber verstohlen. 
Sage mir tausend-tausendmale: 
Alles giebt sie reichlich und gem, 
Natur hat weder Kern 
Noch Schale, 

Alles ist sie mit einem Male. 
Dich prijfe du nur allermeist, 
Ob du Kern oder Schale seist! 

This poem has not yet, as far as we know, been pub- 
lished in an English translation. We present tl e fol- 
lowing version: 

'•'•Nature's within from mortal mind''' 

Philistine, sayest thou, 
'•^Must ever lie concealed?''' 

To me, my friend, and to my kind 

Repeat this not. We trow 

Where'er we are that we 

Within must always be. 

'■'■Thrice blest e'en he to whom she has 

Her outer shell revealed" 

This saying sixty years I heard 

Repeated o'er and o'er. 

And in my soul I cursed the word. 

Though secretly I swore. 

Some thousand-thousand times or more 

Unto myself I witness bore: 
"Gladly gives Nature all her store. 

She knows not kernel, knows not shell. 

For she is all in one. 

But thou, 

Examine thou thine own self well 

If thou art kernel or art shell." 


Similarly as Goethe and Schiller were the most brill- 
iant twin stars in Germany's poetical galaxy, so also 
Bunsen's and KirchhofT's names are eternally connected 
with each other in the empire of physical and chemical 
science. Professor Kirchhoff died lately, and Robert von 
Helmholtz, one of the disciples of Kirchhoft' and son of 
the famous scientist, has published in the latest Rund- 
schau (February, 1SS8) an essay on Professor Kirch- 
hofPs life and merits. Kirchhoff discovered that the 
rays of light from the celestial bodies speak a lan- 
guage which can be understood by an analysis of their 
spectrums. He was the grammarian who deciphered 
the rules of that language, and \vho thus easily ex- 



plained the dark Frauenhofer lines in tlie spechum of 
the sun. 

We publish in the present number the translation of 
an extract of Robert von Helmholtz's article and here add 
a passage from the obituary notice in the Berichte der 
Deutschen Chernischen Gesellschaft : 

" In the spectral analysis of the sun as perfected by 
Bunsen and KirchhofF, analytical chemistry has been 
enriched by a method which, through ease of manipula- 
tion and its accuracy, throws all other methods into the 
shade. It was a favor of fortune that led the paths of 
these two investigators together; for only through the 
association of one who stood at the head of chetnical learn- 
ing and thought with one who was a complete master 
of the vkdiole field of physical science, could a work be 
accomplished which, with untiring energy, sifted, com- 
pleted and extended the results of previous investigation 
and formed them into a new system of chemical analy- 
sis. Only through such an alliance would it have been 
possible for us to have in our possession an apparatus 
which, outdoing by far the most powerful microscope, 
can bring under observation vestiges of matter which 
were previously beyond reach of all perception. 


"In 1S57 the treatise on solar spectra appeared; in 
1S59 his work on the Frauenhofer lines, and at last his 
treatise on the relation between the emission and ab- 
sorption of light and heat were published. How the 
eyes of physicists were opened ! The puzzle of the 
dark lines which mysteriously cross the solar spectrum 
is solved, and with this solution a new world was 
opened to the science of chemistry. The debris of un- 
known worlds which from time to time reached the 
surface of our planet, had, it is true, informed us of the 
existence of telluric elements in the space beyond us; 
but that was all that we knew. With the knowledge 
of the relation between the dark lines of the solar spec- 
trum and the bright colored lines iij the spectra of tel- 
luric elements, the constitution of the bodies of the 
heavens could be determined. Seldom has any discov- 
ery exerted a more dazzling fascination upon mankind ! 
It had appeared hitherto as the grandest acquisition that 
by the rays of light a fleeting picture which before was 
trusted to the eye alone could be permanently retained. 
And now it sounded like revelation when we learned 
that the same rays of light, forced into the service of 
science by Kirchhoff's genius, could unveil to mortals 
the very nature of the heavenly bodies. 


" That proud but true saying of the Roman poet, 
spoken of himself, could never have come from the 
modest lips of the German scholar, and yet none could 
say with better rigjjt: 

" Non omnis mortar, multaque fars met 

Vitabit libitiiiam." P. c. 

The unity of nature Is far greater than is generally 
imagined. Professor Werner, in Gustav Freytag's 
novel, 77ie Lost Manuscript, dwells on this subject 
when speaking of the storm. On page 791 of the pres- 
ent number of The Open Court, he says: " There is 
a secret union between every movement of nature and 
our own spirits, and all things living, however averse to 
individual existence, together form a vast unity. The 
conception and recognition of this unity have, at all 
times, been the most sublime feeling of which man was 




Gustav KirchhofF was professor of mathematical 
physics. I give this fact precedence, not because its im- 
portance would place it at the beginning of an article in 
a biographical dictionary, but because mathematical 
physics is a science that only those who possess an 
inborn aptitude for it are qualified for. There are voca- 
tions in life, there are departments of science, from 
which we can never ascertain what kind of people their 
devotees are. Whosoever intends to enter certain 
departments of abstract science, must possess capacities 
and talents of a definite order and nature; otherwise he 
will never get beyond the threshold. 

Such a science is pure mathematics. Daily experi- 
ence in schools teaches that very few are qualified for it. 
Still more difficult is it to determine upon what intel- 
lectual faculties it rests. Mathematics is logic applied 
to space and quantity. Mathematics therefore requires 
great power of abstraction and an intuitive conception or 
magnitudes and their relations. It is certain that the 
conception, judgment and construction of things by a 
mathematician must be necessarily of a special kind, 
because the mechanism of pure logical reasoning is emi- 
nently developed in mathematical processes. 

The natural scientist, on the other hand, requires 
quite a different talent, that of observation. Everybody 
whose activity necessitates observation belongs, in the 
widest sense of the word, to the investigators of nature; 
the physician, the traveler and the collector are all 
natural scientists. Observation consists in noting and 
gathering what has been noted. According as the princi- 
ple of collecting is regulated by higher and higher charac- 
teristics, observation approximates more and more to 
reasoning, collecting more and more to interpreting, and 
the knowledge of nature more and more to the exact 
science of nature. Its devotees no longer work with the 
purely asthetical faculty of observation alone, but also 
with the logical power of induction. They differ from 
mathematicians principally in this, that the material for 
their thought is placed in the external world, and they 
must possess the talent to find itthere,whereas the founda- 
tions of mathematics are given seemingly a priori. 

* Translated from the German in the Rundsc/iau, February, i8SS. 



Mathematics is eminently the most convenient aid of 
exact natural science, for the reason that it is the lan- 
guage wherein its conclusions may be expressed with 
greatest conciseness and precision. For this reason all 
natural science is becoming more and more mathemati- 
cal. Physics, next to astronomy, has attained the great- 
est development in this direction, and chemistry is 
about to follow it. Thus to-day, that man will be, 
upon the whole, the greatest physicist who unites the 
faculty of observation with logical acuteness of thought, 
who has mastered experimental and mathematical 
science. According as the one or the other predomi- 
nates, the rank of the individual investigator, in this 
competition of abilities, will approach either to that of an 
investigator of nature or to a philosopher of nature. 
Both are indispensable; the latter is the more uncom- 
mon, for there are always more good observers than 
good reasoners. Gustav KirchhofF belongs naturally 
rather to the great thinkers, and yet his most celebrated 
and grandest discovery was an observation. He is 
therefore, as a mathematical physicist, one of the great- 
est of natural philosophers, for having united the facul- 
ties of observation and abstract reasoning. 

KirchhofPs most popular work is the spectrum analy- 
sis. It has involved results most extraordinary and 
universal; it has come to be of the greatest significance to 
all branches of science; it has aroused the wonder and 
imagination of man as has seldom been done by any dis- 
covery, for it has opened to view worlds that seemed to 
be closed to us forever. It has thus become'the gi-eatest 
and most renowned of KirchhofPs works. 

But wonderful as these results are, we think the 
truly master-like work, the uncommon acuteness, the 
ingeniousness and assiduous spirit of the method in 
which Kirchhofi, from an accidental observation, 
induced, step by step, a universal theoretical law and 
with it those astonishing consequences, demonstrating 
all with rigid accuracy — we think this to be a greater 
work and more worthy of our admiration. Great men 
before him had had the threads of this discovery in their 
hands, without being able to unravel them. French- 
men and Englishmen have asserted and still maintain 
rights of priority. Kirchhoff quietly, but firmly, 
refused to acknowledge them. They had all seen, all 
surmised and conjectured something as possible or prob- 
able, without KirchhofT's having known it at the time. 
A safe basis, a strong proof had been given by none. It 
was reserved for the acuteness, thoroughness and perse- 
verance of German scientists to elevate this idea, the 
result of a fortunate incident, to the domain of scientific 

Spectrum analysis in the narrower sense, that is the 
analysis of chemical elements by spectral observations, 
if any distinction is to be made, is to be credited to the 

idea and instigation of Bunsen. To the most ingenious 
of Bunsen's discoveries belong certain, simple, physical 
methods of qualitative chemical analysis, i. e., the de- 
termination and discrimination of chemical elements. 
He had ascertained as the most characteristic reaction of 
chemical analysis the colors of non-illuminating flames. 
Every chemical element in a non-illuminating flame, e. 
g. a blue gas-flame, whether volatilized or burnt, lends 
the same a certain tint peculiar to itself. We would ac- 
cordingly be able to distinguish every substance by the 
light that its incandescent vapor emitted, were our eyes 
capable of distinguishing so many innumerable lines of 
color as there are elements in nature. KirchhoflF and 
Bunsen came to the aid of our vision. By means of the 
prism they analyzed the light of the flame into its ele- 
mental constituents and its elemental colors. In this 
way arose the spectrum of light produced by a flame. 
The rainbow is a natural spectrum of the sun's light 
projected through drops of rain. But this, as well as 
the spectrum of all incandescent solid bodies, jjresents 
quite a difl^erent appearance from that of a flame, viz.: 
that of an incandescent gas. The former is made up of 
continuous colors blending with one another in imper- 
ceptible gradations; the latter entirely of bright, sepa- 
rate lines which, separated by dark spaces, not only 
possess their characteristic colors, but lie in certain 
positions and at certain distances, each element having 
its own. 

As in the heavens we recognize the constellations by 
the respective position and brightness of the single stars, 
so do we distinguish the spectrum of iron from that of 
copper by the respective distances and tints of their 
spectral lines. In fact we could dispense entirely with 
the colors; it would suffice to measure by a scale the 
positions of the separate lines, in order to ascertain from 
Kirchhofl''s and Bunsen's tables the chemical element 
we had to deal with. It is marvelous, but true. A per- 
son totally color-blind could determine in this way with 
absolute certainty what colors a flame emits. The great- 
est excellence of a natural scientific method, namely, in- 
dependence of subjective judgment, has been given to 
spectrum analysis by its discoverers. The chief work 
and the chief merit of KirchhofF and Bunsen was, how- 
ever, to have elaborated the proof of the correctness of 
their method. They have proven that the position of 
the lines depends upon the chemical nature of the light- 
emitting incandescent vapor alone, and not upon its tem- 
perature, or on other foreign elements present, or on 
the nature of the flame wherein the substance is volatil- 
ized, or on any other secondary conditions. This dem- 
onstration was given experimentally, and with great 
care and pains. Bunsen could therefore, very soon 
after his discovery, make the positive^tatement that he 
had discovered by spectrum analysis a new element, hav- 
ing found a salt in a certain mineral spring that showed 



unknown lines. The most sensitive method of chemi- 
cal analysis to-day is that by spectrum analysis. 

Still more wonderful are the further discoveries 
by Kirchhoff and based on the method that he and 
Bunsen established. Kirchhoff, partly by accident, once 
let a ray of sunlight pass through a flame colored with 
natrium, and then through a prism, so that the spectra of 
the sun and the flame coincided. It was to be expected 
that the well-known yellow line of the natrium would 
stand out, bright and clear, from the solar spectrum. 
Just the opposite happened; exactly at the spot where 
the bright line had to show, a dark line appeared. To 
Kirchhoff this" reversal of the natrium line" was remark- 
able in the highest degree, and he at once surmised that 
a fundamental law must lie at the bottom of this fact. 
It was learned later that others had observed the very 
same thing, and in fact, men of the greatest authority. 
But the genius of Kirchhoff alone succeeded in divining 
and exposing the treasured truths that lay concealed 
within. On the day after the experiment he was already 
able to derive and explain the observed phenomenon 
from a much more universal principle which, strange 
to say, belongs not to Optics but to Heat. From the 
apparently remote principle that heat passes only from 
a body of a higher temperature to a body of a lower tem- 
perature and not vice versa, he induced by purely log- 
ical inferences the fact of the " reversal of the natrium 
line." The link of the process constitutes the cele- 
brated " Kirchhoff 's Law of the Emission and Ab- 
sorption of Light and Heat," which states that all 
bodies absorb the very rays and very colors that they 
themselves emit, and that the proportion between the 
light absorbed and emitted is one and the same with all 
bodies. The treatise in which this was demonstrated 
is perhaps the most beautiful that Kirchhoff has written, 
although the least mathematical. The history of this 
law may serv,e as a model for the investigations of nat- 
ural scientists; the law has been rigorously induced from 
more general and known principles; the law aflirms some- 
thing new in itself; the law covers the most diverse and 
special cases which may be established by experiment. 

It will fall to the lot of very few to make such dis- 
coveries, but all should take pattern by his industry, 
logic and carefulness, and no less by the modesty with 
which Kirchhoff made known his discovery to the 
Berlin Academy : " Upon occasion of an investigation 
of the spectra of colored flames, conducted in common 
by Bunsen and me, whereby we were enabled to de- 
termine the qualitative composition of complex com- 
pounds from the appearance of the spectra of their blow- 
pipe flame, I made some observations which unexpect- 
edly explain the origin of Frauenhofer's lines and war- 
rant conclusions from these as to the elemental con- 
stitution of the solar atmosphere and perhaps to that of 
the brighter fixed stars." 

These words prove that Kirchhoff himself inferred 
at once the most wonderful application of his law. 

The Frauenhofer lines mentioned here, are, as is 
well known, the fine dark lines that cross the solar 
spectrum proper, that is when not seen through a flame. 
The nature of these lines had been formerly an impen- 
etrable mystery. The experiment of Kirchhoff just 
given, showed that artificial Frauenhofer lines also 
could be produced by letting a ray pass through a flame. 

The inference was at hand that the natural lines were 
produced by the same cause as the artificial ones, that 
they were " reversed " spectra of gaseous bodies, and 
that the light of the incandescent solar mass must have 
somewhere or other passed through incandescent gases 
before reaching the earth. Still more follows. If the 
artificial lines coincide with Frauenhofer's lines, as 
Kirchhoff for example proved in the case of the lines of 
iron, natrium and nickel, we might infer, upon the 
basis of the Bunsen-Kirchhoff investigation, that these 
chemical elements were also contained in the supposed 
incandescent gases mentioned. The fact that the sun 
consists of a dense, molten mass enclosed by a light- 
giving envelope, and above all, that it contains those 
telluric elements whose spectral lines coincide with the 
Frauenhofer lines, this fact resulted " with a certainty 
as great," says Kirchhoff, " as is at all attainable in 
natural sciences." 

It is characteristic of Kirchhoff that he computed this 
certainty mathematically. It might after all have been 
possible that the coincidence of the bright lines of iron with 
Frauenhofer's lines was accidental. But the probabil- 
ity of this resulted only as = 

■' ■' 1 ,000,000,000,000,000,000, 

that is equivalent to zero. " There must be a cause 
that effects these coincidences," says Kirchhoff. "A 
cause can be adduced which is absolutely efficient; the 
phenomenon is explained, if the rays of light that pro- 
duce the solar spectrum have passed through iron vapors 
and there suffered absorption by the iron vapors. 
Furthermore, this is the only adducible cause of these 
coincidences; its acceptance appears therefore necessary." 

We may introduce a story here that Kirchhoff him- 
self liked to tell. The question was being discussed as 
to whether Frauenhofer's lines proved the presence of 
gold in the sun. Kirchhoff's banker remarked : " Ot 
what use is gold in the sun to me, if I can't get it down 
here?" Kirchhoff received in recognition of his discov- 
ery a medal from England and the value of the same in 
gold. As he brought this to the banker, he said: "My 
friend, I've gotten gold from the sun after all." 

As we already remarked, it had been a matter of 
entire indifference to Kirchhoff in his own estimate of 
the importance of his law, whether anything definite as 
to the nature of the sun and fixed stars accidentally result- 
ed therefrom, or whether it possessed for the time being 



only a theoretical interest. It is highly characteristic of 
him that he makes no mention whatever in his theoret- 
ical lecture of all that great region which his discovery 
made accessible, and that in his collected essays he has 

placed it at the end. 

* * * 

In his inaugural address upon entering the rector- 
ship at Heidelberg in 1865 he says: "There is a 
science, mechanics, whose business it is to determine 
the motion of bodies, when the causes that condition it 
are known. .... Mechanics is closely related to 
geometry. Both sciences are applications of pure math- 
ematics. The theorems of both as regards their cer- 
tainty, stand exactly on the same level ; we may with 
as much right attribute absolute certainty to the 
theorems of mechanics as to those of geometry." 

And he adds further: " Did we know all the forces 
of nature and did we know what the condition of mat- 
ter at any one point of time is, we would be able by the 
science of mechanics to deduce and determine its condi- 
tion at every succeeding point of time. The highest 
object that natural sciences have to strive to attain, is the 
realization of the hypothesis just presented, namely, to 
refer all natural phenomena to the science of mechanics. 
This object of natural science will never be fully 
attained, but the fact that it is recognized as such, tend- 
ers a certain satisfaction, and in the approximation to 
this lies the highest pleasure that the study of natural 
phenomena can afford." 

In contrast to these statements let me quote the 
words which have since gained celebrity and with which 
Kirchhoff begins his " Mechanics," published in 1875: 
" Mechanics is the science of motion. Its object we 
define to be this : To describe with exhaustive thorough- 
ness and the greatest attainable simplicity the motions 
that are taking place in nature." 

The difference between this definition of mechanics 
and the first one is worthy of attention. There, then 
and before that large audience Kirchhoff spoke of the 
" causes" of motion. Here, now and in this rigorously 
mathematical work the word and conception of " cause" 
no longer occurs. The " explanation" of nature is given 
up, the simplest possible " description" of nature is now 
sought. Those words of introduction in his " Mechan- 
ics" and their elaboration in the work itself are a most 
pregnant and comprehensive expression of KirchhofF's 
conception of nature. Of the possibility of the deter- 
mination of things as such, it makes no sort of an 
hypothesis or supposition. Its object is to portray phe- 
nomena in a logically determined form. According to 
Kant, in the external world the theorems of geometry 
and mechanics only are logical, that is a priori, the 
principles of the latter diflfering from those of the former 
only in this, that, besides the three dimensions of space, 
it needs a fourth, that of time, and the conception of mat- 

ter in motion. With thpse three fundamental conceptions 
of space, time and matter, Kirchhoff endeavors to accom- 
plish his object in the description of the facts of experience. 
He goes beyond his predecessors in so far as to repre- 
sent in purely geometrical form the conceptions of "force" 
and " mass," which were held to be fundamentally log- 
ical. "Force" appears to him primarily as the accelera- 
tion (change in velocity) which a particle of matter ac- 
quires in a unit of time, and the knowledge of all these 
"accelerating forces" at any one point of time would 
suffice for a description of the world. Experience has 
shown, that the description gains in simplicity, if we 
multiply the accelerations by a "determinate positive 
constant;" this constant is called the "mass" of "the 
particle in motion." 

* * * 

Kirchhoff 's aspirations after light and truth in every- 
thing, are prominently marked in his philosophical atti- 
tude, and caused him to interpret his mission in science 
rather too rigorously to admit even the semblance of 
dogma in it, as perhaps the uniformity of nature sug- 
gests. And yet it is not only as a critical thinker that 
he analyzed nature. His greatest discovery shows that 
he possessed that quick discernment, that ardent investi- 
gation, that intuitive insight into the workings of nature's 
forces, without which the true scientist can never suc- 
cessfully work. We repeat: Kirchhoff ranks among 
the first of natural philosophers because, as a mathe- 
matical physicist, he united the faculties of observation 
and abstract reasoning. 



To the Editor: 

Assuming that The Open Court is open to any rational 
and courteous rejoinder to any of its contents the following is re- 
spectfully submitted : 

In the article captioned as above in the November issue are 
some striking truths mixed with and marred by some equally 
evident misapprehensions. To begin with, I agree with the au- 
.thor that, so far as any proof or demonstration known to me will 
go, the brain is the seat and organ of mind and that the existence 
of a spiritual essence in man, commonly called the soul, and of 
which independent existence is predicated, is a pure assumption, 
a philosophical speculation. This " irrational hypothesis of a 
vital principle," by which I suppose is meant a deathless prin- 
ciple, does not, however, underlie Christianity; it has been foisted 
upon Christianity and its influence therein has been insidious 
and destructive. The author's concluding sentence: "Modern 
Christianity is something very different from that of its founder, 
being, indeed, mainly Alexandrian neo-Platonism, metamorphosed 
and blundered by nescient emotionalists," contains also much de- 
plorable truth. Myself an ardent Christian, I wish to be entirely 
impartial, to acknowledge errors and claim only what facts re- 
quire. The dift'erence s'tated above has occurred to the doctrinal 
bases of Christianity. It may have impaired its ethical value, but 
the self-sacrifice and benevolence which are to-day the attributes 
of every one worthy the name of Christian have found exem- 



plars in the Church even in the darkest and grossest centuries. 
In its ethical character Christianity is nearer its founder than in 
its eschatology. 

Jesus did not say what is so often attributed to him, viz. : 
" The kingdom of God is within us." The true translation of 
Luke 17 — 21 is: "in the midst" or "among," and referred to his 
own presence, as the succeeding context plainly shows. And he 
did not say "us," but "you," referring to the Pharisees, who ap- 
peared to possess no seed of heavenly truth. 

In accepting the author's closing paragraph in its doctrinal 
sense I wish emphatically to except from its sweeping statement 
a very considerable portion of the Church, of whose number the 
writer is one. We may not dogmatically declare that the man, 
the whole man, the ego, the thinking, willing and executing mani 
is an organization of matter and nothing more, though we are 
able to discover nothing else but the life principle common to all 
grades of animals. We, however, unhesitatingly reject the half 
platonic theory that man is an immortal spirit. The original and 
complete speculation was that man had neither beginning nor 
end. The half-converted Greeks who foisted the mutilated the- 
ory upon the Church and through the hands of Augustine suc- 
ceeded in riveting it there, greatly damaged but did not destroy 
the Christian system. They were actuated by the motive that 
prompts men to-day, both inside the Church and out, the desire 
to have a more " lofty philosophy." There are many who can- 
not endure the sort of faith that Job had. He knew nothing of 
immortality, but believed in God. He expected to die and 
moulder to naught, but he knew that every intelligent being 
loved its own creations, and so he says : " Thou wilt have a de- 
sire to the work of thine hands. Thou shalt call and I will answer 
Thee." All known heathen peoples have believed in a life be- 
yond the grave as a continuance or a consequent of this life, 
many in an endless life. It is singular that the Hebrews alone 
believed in revivification only by resurrection at the will and 
pleasure of God. The fact that Jesus and Paul and John teach 
precisely the same doctrine and that science to this day has been 
unable to discover any other road to the much-coveted future life 
looks a little like a consensus. 

The author is right in saying that the Bible nowhere teaches 
man's natural immortality; he is totally wrong in saying that it 
does teach that the identical body which died and decayed, and 
which science teaches is resolved into its constituent elements, 
will be literally restored. Let him read Corinthians 15, in which 
Paul distinctly declares that it is not the same body. Those of 
the Church, who believe that man is a spiritual being no-d.\ speak 
of the "resurrection of the body." A more accurate phraseology 
is the " resurrection of the man." Resurrection means "raising 
up to perfection of life," and is practically understood as re-crea- 
tion without loss of identity. Paul plainly says it is a mystery, 
and I suppose the most " advanced " rationalist will accept a well 
authenticated fact, however mysterious it may be. Paul plainly 
hinges faith in the resurrection of the faithful on the already 
proved return from death of the Savior. There stood the indis- 
putable fact, attested by over five hundred persons who knew 
Jesus " after the flesh." Our author seems to scoft" at the " stig- 
mata of nail-marks," and says that faith in the resurrection is not 
a " lofty philosophy." That is true. The world has been sur- 
feited and confused with too many lofty philosophies that tickled 
and pufted up and deluded poor humanity up to the brink of the 
grave and then deserted the hopeless wretches, leaving them to 
flounder in vague and sounding phrases or to sink in despair. 
Jesus returned bearing the nail-marks that every carping mouth 
should be closed forever. Had he come without them it would 
have afforded a pretext for unbelief, as in the case of Thomas. It 
is scarcely gracious or scientific to object to the proof which would 
surely have been demanded if absent 

That the bruised body of Jesus, in which he showed himself 
after his resurrection, was his true and glorious one is not likely. 
To mortal eyes that could bear no other, and for the confirming 
of their faith, he thus appeared, but he was "raised a spiritual 
body," descriptions of which are found in Daniel x. and in the 
Revelation. It is to that "perfection of lite" the spiritual body 
or being like unto the risen Jesus that his followers hope to at- 
tain. To say that they are immortal now is to throw the whole 
system into confusion. 

Our author argues that to prove that "mind is brain function 
and nothing more" is "fatal to every form of supernaturalism." 
If he will explain the latter phrase by saying that it means the 
popular immortal-soulism of the nominal Church I will agree 
with him. If he desires to extend the definition beyond that 
point and claim that his demonstration forbids belief in a possible 
future recreation of man, such as the proven resurrection of Jesus, 
with his infinitely sublimated powers, and the angelic appearances 
point to them, I say that he is stretching his evidence to cover a 
case that is wholly beyond its scope. The speculative errors 
which the Church embraced so long ago, and which she has not 
yet become strong enough to slough ofl^, though hundreds of her 
pulpits and many thousands of her members reject them, subject 
her to righteous criticism. For one, I welcome these from any 
quarter, but those who claim to be rational and of superior wis- 
dom should not fail to be well informed as to the real teaching of 
the scriptures or the progress of truth in the Church, nor should 
they lack in fairness in expounding the views they endeavor to 
supplant. J. Albert Stowk. 


To the Editor: Hempstead, Texas, Feb. 4, 18S8. 

You and Mr. Hegeler have expressed the desire (in a letter 
of December 31st, 1SS7) to know how it happened that in mv 
friendly contention with Professor Cope I have used "conscious- 
ness " and " mind " synonymously. I did so, partly out of courtesy 
to my adversary, who habitually makes use of the phrase " mind 
or consciousness," and partly to carry on the discussion as much 
as possible on the basis given by himself. 

Allow me, however, to indicate as briefly as possible how I 
myself distinguish "consciousness" from "mind." "Conscious- 
ness " is that state of our being in which we are aware of what is 
usually classified as sensations, perceptions, emotions, thoughts and 
volitions. When we are thoroughly asleep or in a swoon we are 
not aware of such affections, and are consequently not conscious. 

Consciousness, of course, can be only a f resent phenomenon, 
a manifestation taking place within us at the very moment. When 
we are conscious of something that has occurred in the past, this 
retrospective consciousness takes place likewise only in the mo- 
ment of present awareness. The same holds good with prospect- 
ive consciousness. We foresee the future only as content of our 
present consciousness. 

I have called this one, all-comprising moment of conscious 
realization " the mental presence," and have repeatedly pointed 
out that its contents vanish from moment to moment into noth- 
ingness, and are as constantly reconstituted, under kaleidoscopic 
changes, from a persistent vital matrix. Consciousness is always 
the effect or outcome of some underlying activity., never itself the 
manifesting substrate. 

The underlying vital matrix is perceived by us as the nerve- 
system of organic beings. And all the functional activities of this 
nerve-system contribute toward the production of the mental 
presence, though many phases of it may remain unconscious ; and 
this not only from their not attaining a sufficient degree of intensity, 
but also by dint of normal disposition (see "Space and Touch," 
Mind, No. XL.). 

When the term consciousness is used collectively for a series 


of mental states which we experience during an hour or a life- 
time, it does not denote an actual phenomenon or veritable exist- 
ent, but stands merely as a general name, in the same way as 
"animal "or "plant." 

The term " mind " signifies to most persons some active, im- 
material agent within us, capable of producing or manifesting 
conscious states. As I do not believe in such an agent, I can 
rightly speak of mind only adjectively, as when I say : " mental 
states," and then "mental" is really synonymous with "con- 
scious." Or I can speak of it, at most, as an attribute of our be- 
ing, as when I say: "our mentality," which is not synonymous 
with "our consciousness," as it includes also the unconscious 
working of the brain toward the production of consciousness. 

We can, moreover, not well avoid using the term " mental " 
as an opposite to "physical." This distinction is felt by every one 
to be legitimate. Yet it is incontestable that everything phys- 
ical — all matter and all motion — is realized by us solely as per- 
ception of our own. We become aware of it as a peculiar kind of 
conscious event within our own mental presence. A physical 
fact is, consequently, itself of mental consistency, for it forms part 
of our own consciousness. And the only essential difference be- 
tween it and other constituents of our consciousness lies in the 
fact of its being aroused in us through compulsory sense-stimula- 
tion, while other conscious states arise in us without any com- 
pulsory influence working upon us from outside our own being. 

To become, however, fully alive to the radical contrast ob- 
taining between what we call a " physical " and what we call a 
" mental " fact, we need only realize that mental facts, as such, 
are entirely imperceptible through sensory channels, while it is 
the very characteristic of physical facts to be thus perceptible. I 
can touch your physical being, hear your voice, and see your 
body move and gesticulate; but I cannot touch, hear or see any 
of your sensations, perceptions, emotions, thoughts or volitions. 
These are inwardly or retrospectively realized by yourself alone. 

The distinction here established is essential. It excludes first 
of all the possibility of our entire being consisting of mind-stuff, 
as believed by idealists of all shades. And it excludes also the 
possibility of anything mental being in the remotest degree akin 
to physical forces, as taught by materialistic thinkers, for no one 
can deny that we give the name of "force " only to that which is 
capable of affecting our senses in some way or other, and this is 
exactly the kind of effect that nothing purely mental can produce. 
Yours, very truly, 

Edmund Montgomery. 


To the Editor: Atlanta, III., Feb. i8, 1888. 

The Philosophy of Monism, as I understand it, explains the 
unity and the simplicity of the supreme laws of nature. 

It is in accord with Monotheism as well as Pantheism, if they 
are rightly interpreted. It unifies all phenomena, both material 
and spiritual. It reconciles and unites God and nature, spirit and 
matter, and makes them consubstantial and correlative. I believe 
in a natural religion, in adoration and in the immortality 
of the soul. I believe with Goethe, when he says : " Cer- 
tainly there does not exist a more beautiful worship of God 
than that which needs no image, but which arises in our hearts 
from converse with nature." It is through this kind of worship, 
enlightened by science as interpreted by the Monistic Philoso- 
phy, that we are led to the sublime idea of the unity of God and 

Monism is supported by our most advanced science; it is 
optimistic and, unlike dualism, it introduces no intellectual con- 
fusion, no antagonisms into science and religion. Emerson must 
have believed in monism when he said : " I,et us build altars to 
the Blessed Unity and the beautiful necessity which holds nature 

and souls in perfect solution and compels every atom to serve an 
universal end and which secures that all is made of one kind. 

" In astronomy is vast space, but no foreign system ; in geology 
vast time, but the same laws to-day. 

" Why should we be afraid of nature, which is no other than 
philosophy and theology embodied.' Law rules throughout exis- 
tence, a law which is not intelligent, but intelligence, not personal 
nor impersonal — it disdains words and passes understanding, it 
dissolves persons, it vivifies nature; yet solicits the pure in heart 
to draw on all its omnipotence." 

The Philosophy of Monism gives me intellectual satisfaction, 
because of its ability to unify and reconcile heretofore discordant 
theories of things. For instance, by monism, both the a priori and 
a posteriori ideas of the mind are recognized and their differences 
satisfactorily explained. Also the doctrines of animal types and 
animal descent are reconciled, and Cuvier and Darwin were both 
needed, and both were right if also a little wrong. Monism 
makes life worth living — makes existence the highest boon, and 
teaches that next to non-existence anti-naturalism, as inculcated 
by the pessimistic religions, is the greatest calamity. 

W. W. Richmond. 


Winter. From the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau. Boston : 

Houghton, Mifilin & Co., 1888. 

Somewhere Thoreau wrote: "I desire so to love wisdom as 
to live according to its dictates a life of simplicity, independence, 
magnanimity and trust." And surely there are but few men who 
can boast greater success in the achievement of their desires. 
To such an extent was he successful, that on his death-bed he 
could say, "I regret nothing." 

It is but natural that a man who both in his life and in his 
writings waged such open war against society and all its estab- 
lished laws and customs should incur the dislike, not to say hos- 
tility, of many — unsympathetic critics in particular — who were all 
too ready to call him a "prig" and a "humbug," and to detract from 
him in every possible way until their detraction necessarily re- 
flected upon themselves. But those who knew him (and they 
are the ones whose judgment all unprejudiced people will 
accept) agree in pronouncing him to have been as sincere and as 
pure a man as could be met with. He certainly was a man of 
extraordinary parts. His whole life was devoted to self-develop- 
ment and self-improvement. He cultivated all his powers and in 
whatever he undertook to do he was successful. His senses were 
the most acute conceivable, eyes and ears, nose and tongue, — and 
his mind was equally acute. " He saw as with microscope, heard 
as with ear trumpet, and his memory was a photographic register 
of all he saw and heard," So far as society and its artificial para- 
phernalia were concerned, he was essentially a negative spirit; 
but in the realm of nature and in the domain of truth he was an 
enthusiastic, bold and fearless champion. 

No matter in what phase of his career we view Thoreau, 
whether as poet, philosopher or naturalist, what everywhere 
impresses us most strongly is his pei'sonality. He was the indi- 
vidualist of individualists. His existence was the practical dem- 
onstration of his theory of life. Such absolute independence, 
such self-poise, such self-reliance as he everywhere exhibited 
could be produced only in this country. He felt no obligations 
to any one; to himself alone he felt accountable. His mind was 
quick ; he knew his own convictions, and when the occasion arose 
he said what he had to say and not what he might be expected to. 
After the arrest of John Brown, when Massachusetts and indeed 
the whole North were still doubtful and undecided, it was 
Thoreau who first had the courage to step forward and raise his 
voice in defence of the hero of Harper's Ferry. 



It is much to be regretted that hitherto no adequate biography of 
Thoreau has been published. All the accountsof his life that have 
been written are at best unsatisfactory. His inner life is fully 
and strongly depicted in his writings. Not a page that does not 
unmistakably bear his stamp. 

Tliis last volume, made up of further extracts from his jour- 
nal, will be welcomed by all who have in any way come in con- 
tact with the individuality of Thoreau. It is as characteristic and 
as interesting as any one of its predecessors. It is full of those origi- 
nal, pithy sayings for which he is famous, and in the thought and 
construction of which he ranked second to none — Emerson, per- 
haps, excepted. We quote the following at random : " I do not 
think much of that chemistry that can extract corn and potatoes 
out of a barren soil, compared with that which can extract thought 
and sentiment out of the life of a man on any soil." " It is in 
vain to write of the seasons unless you have the seasons in you." 
" Man's noblest gift to man is his sincerity, for it embraces his in- 
tegrity also." " I would be in society as in the landscape ; in the 
presence of nature there is no reserve nor effrontery." 

We are accustomed to think of Thoreau chiefly as a natural- 
ist; and all the titles of his books would lead us to infer that such 
was the case. But he was much more than that. He was above 
all a humanist. All of his endeavors were directed toward estab- 
lishing the relation of life to nature, and toward discovering the 
analogies between our existence and the rest of creation. As 
Emerson said: "His soul was made for the noblest society; 
wherever there is knowledge, wherever there is virtue, wherever 
there is beauty, he will find a home." h. f. 

The memoir of his friend, Fleeming Jenkin, is a well — we 
may even say artistically — written account of a man who seems 
in every respect worthy of such a tribute. h. a. l. 


Portraits. — Memoir of Fleeming Jenkin. By Robert 

Louis Stevenson. New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 

Rarely has an author achieved such sudden and phenomenal 
success as has Mr. Stevenson. Ever since the appearance of 
Dr. yekyll and Mr. Hyde, Mr. Stevenson's name, although well- 
known long before that, has become a household word wherever 
the English language is spoken. The addition of the above three 
titles to the already extensive list of this author's writings will 
contribute not a little to make him still dearer, if that be possible, 
to those who have learned to admire him. 

The first two mentioned volumes are collections o£ Mr. Ste- 
venson's early essays. The main feature which lends to them 
their great charm is the perfect honesty displayed by the author 
and the manner in which he takes his readers into his confidence. 
From cover to cover there runs an undercurrent which is, through 
and through, autobiographical. It is as though we met the author 
face to face and as though he, endeavoring to interest and enter- 
tain each one of us individually', were in the most confidentiai 
manner acquainting us with the past events of his life. We must 
acknowledge ourselves under the spell of personal magnetism — 
or, perhaps better, the magnetism of personality. It is the pre- 
dominance of the subjective element without the obtrusion of ex- 
cessive egotism that immediately attracts us so strongly. The 
writei is a keen observer, and he does not hesitate to tell what he 
sees and feels. That is another of his strong points. He is gen- 
uine. Although we can by no means agree with all his views, 
we must give him credit for having the courage of his con- 
victions. But in one of his views we heartily concur, and that is 
where, speaking of Mr. W. D. Howells, he says: "None ever 
couched a lance with narrower convictions. His own work and 
those of his pupils and masters singly occupy his mind; he is the 
bond-slave, the zealot of his school; he dreams of an advance in 
art like what there is in science; he thinks of past things as rad- 
ically dead; he thinks a thing can be outlived — a strange immer- 
sion in his own history! a strange forgetfulness of the history of 
the race!" 

Fools of Nature. Alice Brown. Boston : Ticknor & Co. 

The author makes definition in her book of Fools of Nature 
as all those in whom a sensitive ideality is combined with that 
love of the marvelous which leads them to seek help and instruc- 
tion from unusual and supposed supernatural sources. The par- 
ticular form of the marvelous here dealt with is modern spiritual- 
ism. In Ben Adams and the professional medium and impostor. 
Professor Riker, we have excellently drawn an opposite specimen 
of the advocates of this particular belief The love story which 
runs through the book, and which, after the first few chapters, com- 
mands the reader's chief attention, is of singular power; but we 
think the main problem which the author attempts to settle in the 
marriage of the divorced hero is treated with a somewhat morbid 
fancy and straining after the impracticable, albeit with much pro- 
found moral insight and purity of aim. The scene between 
Stephen and Sarah, when she feels compelled to leave him, 
reaches the height of moral sacrifice and a sublime devotion to 
the ideal in Stephen's words: "I haven't cared for some things 
you care for," he began, hoarsely, making sudden pauses between 
the words. " I am contented to live along and be happy. Your 
nature is so high that your happiness lies in renunciation. I 
can't bring myself up to your level, but there is one way in which 
I won't fail you ; you shall choose your right, and I will help you 
to do it." There are many other quotable passages worth repeat- 
ing, both for style and matter, if space permitted. c. P. w. 

The Unitarian Revietv for February contains, among other 
articles, " St. Paul's Doctrine of Salvation," by Conrad Mascol ; 
"The Persistence of Caste," by Alfred H. Peters; " The Religion 
of Zoroaster," by David G. Hubbard, and " The Anglo-Irish Ques- 
tion," by Francis William Newman. Among the editor's notes 
are some striking remarks of the Persian Minister at the Court of 
St. James, quoted from the Pall Mall Gazette. They are an ap- 
peal for the introduction of a liberalized Christianity among the 
Asiatic peoples. "Believe me, neither immortality nor sectarian- 
ism is the true cause of your failure to push your civilization in 
Asia and Mohammedan countries. It is your Christian dogmas 
that offend us. We can coin dogmas, like you — better than you. 
We will not have them. We will have your benevolence, your 
charity, your justice and truth, your science of health, your rail- 
roads, telegraphs and manufactures." 

A ^arterly Revietv of the work of the Societies for Ethical 
Culture will be published in April, July, October and January of 
each year, beginning with April, 1888. It is the purpose of this 
Review to present news of the Ethical Movement at large, but 
especially of the work in progress in the different societies be- 
longing to the Union of Societies for Ethical Culture. The gen- 
eral spirit and aim of the movement will receive expression in 
selected addresses by the lecturers of the different Ethical socie- 
ties. One such address will be given in each number of the .ffew'ew. 
The members of the societies and the friends of the Ethical 
Movement everywhere should remember that the success of this 
publication depends upon their support. Subscriptions and orders 
should be addressed to E. J. Oslar, P. O. Box 772, Philadelphia. 

Men contend with one another in punching and kicking; but 
no one shows any emulation in the pursuit of virtue. — Diogenes. 

The richest genius, like the most fertile soil, when unculti- 
vated, shoots up into the rankest weeds; and, instead of vines and 
olives for the pleasure and use of man, produce to its slothful 
owner the most abundant crop of poisons. — Hume. 




CHAPTER VI.— Concluded. 

Frau Rollmaus, however, sat smiling and contented 
with the philosophical system of her neighbor. 
Again the Professor turned to her, and spoke of the 
difficulty of doing, good to the helpless in the right way. 
Frau Rollmaus acknowledged that uneducated people 
had a way of their own, "But one can easily get on 
with them, if they only know that one means well by 

The Professor afterward gave rise to a slight mis- 
understanding, when he respectfully observed to the 
lady : " You are right, for in this field patient love is 
requisite to produce fruitful results." 

"Yes," acquiesced Frau Rollmaus, puzzled, "to be 
sure, these results which you mention are not want- 
ing among us, and they marry for the most part just at 
the right time; but the patient love which you so truly 
speak of as requisite is not always forthcoming among 
our country people, for in marriage they frequently con- 
sider money more than love." 

If, however, the notes in the concert at the upper 
table were not quite in tune, yet the turkey and custard- 
pudding — a masterpiece of Use's kitchen — vanished 
without any adverse concussion of learned wisdom. All 
rose well pleased with one another; only the chil- 
dren, whose innocent mischief is most enduring, found 
with displeasure that Frau Rollmaus would not on this 
occasion enter into any contest in which the encyclope- 
dia could rule as umpire. While the men drank their 
coffee in the next room, Frau Rollmaus again sat on the 
sofa, and Use had a difficult task to satisfy her curiosity 
in answering all the questions with which she was over- 
whelmed concerning the two strangers. Meanwhile 
the children besieged the sofa, lying in wait for an op- 
portunity to undertake a small campaign against the 
unsuspecting Frau Rollmaus. 

" So they are making researches, and in our district. 
It cannot be about the Indians. I did not know that 
any had ever come to these parts. It must be a mis- 
take; and they must mean gypsies, who do make their 
appearance here. Only think, dear Use, a man and two 
women, each with a child, have come within the last 
fortnigVit. The women tell fortunes. What they have 
prophesied to the house-maids is truly remarkable; and 
in the morning two hens disappeared. Can it be con- 
cerning these gypsies? But that I cannot believe, as they 
are mere tinkers and good-for-nothing people. No, 
they are not making investigations concerning them." 

"But who are the gypsies?" asked Clara. 

" Dear child, they are vagabonds who formerly were 
a nation, and now spread themselves everywhere. 
They had a king, and manuscript*, an! hounds, al- 


though they were great rogues. Originally they 
were Egyptians, but also Indians." 

"How could they be Indians?" exclaimed Hans, 
disrespectfully; "the Indians live in America. We also 
have an encyclopedia, and we will examine it immedi- 

" Yes, yes," cried the children, and ran with their 
brother to the book-shelf. Each of them brought 
a volume with new binding, and placed it among the 
coffee cups before Frau Rollmaus, who looked by no 
means pleased at seeing the secret source of her intelli- 
gence laid bare before all eyes. 

"And ours is newer than yours," cried little Franz, 
waving his hand. In vain did Use endeavor by signs 
of disapprobation to suppress this outbreak of family 
pride. Hans held the last volume firmly in his hands 
seeking the word gypsy, and the overthrow of Frau 
Rollmaus, according to human calculations, could no 
longer be averted. But suddenly Hans jumped up, and 
holding the book aloft, exclaimed: " The Professor is 
put down here!" 

" Our Herr Professor in the encyclopedia?" cried the. 

Family feuds and gypsies were all forgotten. Use 
took the book from her brother's hand, Frau Rollmaus 
stood up in order to read the remarkable passage over 
Use's shoulder, all the children's heads gathered round 
the book, so that they looked like a cluster of buds on a 
fruit tree, and all peeped curiously at the lines which 
were so glorious for their guest and themselves. 

In the article there was the usual short notice con- 
cerning living scholars, which contained the place and 
day of the Professor's birth, and the titles — mostly in 
Latin — of his works. All these titles were, in spite of 
their unreadable language, read aloud, with the dates 
and size of the volumes. Use looked into the book for 
a long time, and then handed it to the astonished Frau 
Rollmaus, then the children passed it from one to the 
other. The event made a greater impression here, on 
► both young and old, than it ever did in literary circles. 
Happiest of all was Frau Rollmaus: she had sat next to 
a man who not only could refer to books, but was re- 
ferred to himself. Her admiration of him was un- 
bounded; she found, for the first time in her life, that 
she could hold agreeable intercourse with a man of this 

"What a distinguished scholar!" she exclaimed. 
" What were the titles of his works, dear Use?" 

Use did not know; her eyes and thoughts were fixed 
on the short notice of his life. 

This discovery had the good result of causing Frau 
Rollmaus to lay down her weapons entirely this day, 
and be content not to display any knowledge, for she 
saw that on this occasion a competition with the family 
was impossible, and she condescended to an unpretend- 



ing conversation over household events. But the chil- 
dren arranged themselves at a respectful distance from 
the Professor, and examined him curiously once more 
from top to toe ; and Hans imparted the news in a low 
voice to the Doctor, and was much surprised that he 
thought nothing of it. 

After coffee, the proprietor proposed to his guests to 
ascend the nearest hill, in order to examine the damage 
which had been done by the lightning. Use loaded a 
maid with provisions for supper, and some flasks of 
wine, and the party started. They went down from 
the rock into the valley, over the strip of meadow and the 
brook, then up the hill, through underbrush, amid the 
shadow of the lofty pines. The rain had washed away 
the steep path, and irregular water-channels furrowed 
the gravel; nevertheless, the women walked valiantly 
over the wet places. But if any one should have 
failed to perceive from the dress and bearing of the Pro- 
fessor that he walked in the confidence of manhood, 
they might have imagined that he was a delicately -shod 
lady, and Frau Rollmaus a gentleman in disguise, for 
she hovered round him reverently, and would not leave 
his side. She directed his attention to the stones, and, 
with the end of her umbrella, pointed out the dry places 
to him, and stopped at times, expressing her fear that 
he would find this jaunt too fatiguing. The Professor 
submitted, though much surprised, to the homage of the 
little lady, sometimes looking enquiringly at Use, over 
whose face flitted a roguish smile. On the height the 
path became eiisier, and some trees of lighter foliage 
varied the dark green of the pines. The summit itself 
was clear; the heather, on which the fading blossoms of 
the year still hung, spread itself thickly among the 
stones. On all sides lay the view of the landscape, 
with its heights and valleys, the deep glen, and brook 
with its green border, the fields and the valley of Ros- 
sau. In the direction of the setting sun there rose, o:ie 
behind another, long waves of undulating ground, 
tinted with the purple hue of twilight, passing off into 
the delicate gray of the mountains in the horizon. It 
was a delightful prospect, under a clear sky, in the 
midst of pure mountain air, and the party enjoyed a rest 
on the soft heather. 

After a short stay, they proceeded, led by Hans, to 
the spot where the tree had been struck by lightning. 
A belt of high fir-trees was the plage of the devastation. 
A strong, vigorous pine had been struck and prostrated; 
a desolate confusion of branches and gigantic splinters 
of the white wood lay all around the broken trunk, 
which, without its head, blackened and cloven, still rose 
out of its ruins as high as a house. From the confusion 
of branches on the ground, it could be seen that the earth 
also had been torn up even under the roots of the neigh- 
boring trees. The older members of the party looked 
seriously on the spot where one moment had turned 

vigorous life into frightful deformity ; but the children 
pressed on into the thicket shouting, seized upon the 
scaly cones of the past year, and cut branches from the 
top, each endeavoring to carry off the greatest clusters 
of the scaly fruit. 

" It is only one of a hundred," said the proprietor 
gloomily; "but it is painful to contemplate such devas 
tation, contrary to the usual order of Providence, and to 
think of the destruction that impended over our heads.' 

" Does this recollection cause you only discomfort?' 
asked the Professor; "is it not also exalting? " 

" The horns of the ram are hanging on the branches,' 
said Use, in a low tone, to her father; "he was the sac 
rifice by which we were saved." 

« I think, also," added the Professor, " that any one 
thus struck by lightning might, if time were left him for 
a last thought, say to himself it is the will of Providence. 
We soon forget, in the comforts of daily life, what we 
should always thankfully bear in our hearts, that we only 
live, like all other creatures, under certain conditions. 
Countless forces and heterogeneous powers unceasingly 
work according to their own fixed laws, maintaining, 
supporting, or injuring our life. The cold which checks 
the course of our blood, the breaking waves in which 
the human body sinks, the injurious vapors from the earth 
which poison our breath, are no accidental phenomena; 
the laws by which they act upon us are as ancient and 
holy as our need of food and drink, of sleep and light; 
and when man weighs his position among the powers of 
earth, he must consider his life only as a struggle 
against them and an endeavor to understand them. 
Whoever provides the bread that nourishes us, and who- 
ever grows the wood that warms us — every useful activ- 
ity has no other purpose than by subduing and wisely 
utilizing these forces to strengthen and to protect us. 
In this work we also observe that there is a secret union 
between every movement of nature and our own spirits, 
and that all things living, however adverse to individ- 
ual existence, together form a vast unity. The con- 
ception and recognition of this unity have, at all times, 
been the most sublime feeling of which man was 
capable. From this proceeds another impulse, an over- 
whelming desire and an irresistible longing to divine the 
deeper relations of these forces. And it is this that 
gives us faith. The method of procedure rnay vary in 
different individuals, but the goal is the same. Some, 
possessed of deep feeling, see only eternal wisdom in 
everything that to them seems incomprehensible; and 
in child-like faith they apply to it the most reverent and 
affectionate name. Others earnestly endeavor to observe 
the various laws and forces of nature and reverently to 
comprehend their relations to each other. These latter 
are the men of science. The men of faith and the men 
of science essentially do the same thing. Their attitude 
is very modest; for both recognize that all individual 



life, both subjective and objective, is very insignificant 
as compared with the great All. He who could, when 
struck by lightning, stop to think, ' I am going to my 
Heavenly Father,' and he who could at such a moment 
intently observe the cessation of the activity of his nerv- 
ous system, both would have a blissful end." 

Thus spoke the Professor. The Crown-Inspector 
looked at the speaker in astonishment, suspecting him 
to be one of that new class of apostles who at that time 
made their appearance in various parts, and traveled 
around the country preaching to the people. Frau 
Rollmaus stood reverently with folded hands, occasion- 
ally nodding her assent. Presently she nudged the pro- 
prietor, whispering: 

" That belongs to the philosophy of which we spoke." 

The proprietor did not answer, but listened with 
bowed head. Use never turned her eyes from the 
speaker; his observations sounded strange to her, and 
excited a secret uneasiness, she knew not why. But she 
could say nothing against them, for the spring of genial 
life that issued from this noble soul entranced her. The 
choice of words, the new thoughts, the noble expression 
of his countenance, captivated her irresistibly. 

The party returned to their resting place on the 
height; the sun sank behind the hills, and the soft even- 
ing glow gilded first the tips of the heather, then rose 
above their heads to the lops of the trees, and purple 
shadows covered the ground, the stems of the trees, and 
the distant prospect. But small light clouds of gold and 
purple floated in the heaven above, till there also the 
glowing colors faded into rosy twilight; the mist rose 
from the depths below, and the colors of the earth and 
the heavens died away into a uniform gray. 

Long did the party gaze on the changing lights of 
the evening. At last the proprietor called for the con- 
tents of the basket; the children were busy unpacking 
and passing the cold meats to the assembled circle. The 
proprietor poured out the wine and pledged his guests 
and rejoiced in the fine evening. At a sign from his 
father, Hans ran into the thicket and fetched some pine 

" There is no danger to-day," said the proprietor to 
Herr Rollmaus whilst lighting the torches. 

The children pressed forward to be torch-bearers, 
but only Hans was trusted with this honorable office. 
The gentlemen carried the others. 

Slowly did the procession wind down the hill-path; 
the torches threw a glaring light on copse and stones, 
and on the faces of the men, which in the curves of the 
road were lighted up with a glow like the rising moon, 
and again disappeared in the darkness. Frau Rollmaus 
had endeavored several times to draw the other illus- 
trious stranger into conversation; she now at last suc- 
ceeded, when in a bad part of the road. She began: 

" What your friend said was very good, for it was 

very instructive. He is right; one ought to struggle 
against the powers and seek the connecting link. But 
I assure you it is difficult for a woman. For Rollmaus, 
who is the first power of nature for me, has a hatred of 
principles ; he is always for doing everything according to 
his own ideas, and, as an independent man, he has a right 
to do so; but he is not very much in favor of science, 
and even as regards a piano for the children I have 
trouble with him. But I seek after principles and 
powers, and what is called the connecting link ; and I 
read what I can, for one likes to know what passes in 
the world, and to raise oneself above ordinary people. 
But often one does not understand a thing even when 
read twice; and when it is at last understood it may 
have become obsolete and no longer worth anything, 
and so one might as well give up all researches." 

"You should not do that," exclaimed the Doctor; 
" there is always a secret pleasure in knowing some- 

" Not so," continued the lady; " if I lived in town I 
would devote myself to learning, but in the country one 
is too much isolated, and there is the housekeeping and 
one's husband, who is hard to please. You have no 
idea what a good farmer he is. Rollmaus, hold your 
torch aside, all the smoke blows in the Doctor's face." 

Rollmaus turned the torch away grumbling. His 
wife drew close to him, seized his arm and whispered to 
him : " Before we go away you must invite these gen- 
tlemen to visit us; it is the right thing to do." 

"He is a hedge priest," answered the husband, peev- 

" For God's sake, Rollmaus, don't do anything fool- 
ish; above all, do not blaspheme," she continued, press- 
ing his arm; "he is mentioned in the encyclopedia." 

"In yours?" asked the husband. 

"In the one here," replied the wife, "which amounts 
to the same thing." 

" There are many things in books that are of less 
value than others which are not there," said the hus- 
band, unmoved. 

" I am not to be put off in that way. You will not 
confute me by that," replied the wife. " I tell you that 
he is a man of renown, and propriety demands that we 
should take that into consideration, and you know that 
so far as propriety is concerned." 

" Only be quiet," said Rollmaus, soothingly. " I say 
nothing to the contrary, if needs be; I have eaten many 
a sour apple on your account." 

"On my account!" cried the wife, offended. "Have 
I been unreasonable — am I a tyrant — am I an Eve who 
has stood with her husband under the tree, with loose 
hair, and not. even a chemise? Will you compare your- 
self and me with such a state of things?" 

"No," said Rollmaus. "Only be content; you know 
how we get on together." 



" Don't you see that I am right," replied the wife, 
■soothed. "Believe me, I know also how others get on 
together, and I tell you I iiave a presentiment that 
something is brewing." 

"What is brewing?" asked Rollmaus. 

"Something between Use and the Professor." 

"The devil there is!" exclaimed Herr Rollmaus, 
■with more vivacity than he had shown the whole day. 

"Quiet, Rollmaus, you will be heard; do not lose 
all discretion." 

Use had remained behind; she led her youngest' 
brother, who was tired. The Professor chivalrously 
lingered by her. He pointed out to her how well the 
procession looked; the torches, like large glow-worms, 
in front; behind, the sharply-illuminated figures, and the 
flickering of the gleaming light upon the trunks and 
green branches of the trees. Use listened to him long 
in silence. At last she said : " The most charming thing 
of the day has been your speaking so kindly to our 
neighbor. When she was seated by you, I felt troubled in 
spirit, for I thought it would annoy you to listen to the in- 
appropriate questions of our friend, and it all at once 
■struck me that with respect to us also you must use con- 
stant consideration, and that tormented me. But when 
I saw that you so kindly recognized the good that is to 
be found in our friend, I felt that it would cost you no 
great effort of self-command to hold intercourse with 
us simple folk." 

" Dear young lady," exclaimed the Professor, anx- 
iously, " I hope you are convinced that I only said to the 
■worthy lady what came sincerely from my heart?" 

" I know it," said Use, with vivacity, " and the honest 
soul felt it also herself — she has been quieter and more 
cheerful than usual the whole day — and therefore I 
thank you. Yes, from my heart," she added, softly. 

Praise from the lips of a beloved one is not among 
the least of the pleasures that a man enjoys. The Pro- 
fessor looked beaming with happiness at his neighbor, 
who now in the darkness followed her brother at a 
quicker pace. He did not venture to break the silence; 
the pure hearts of both were revealed, and, without 
speaking a word, they became conscious of a stream of 
warm feeling passing from one to the other. 

"The pedantic habit of reading," began the Profes- 
sor, at last, " makes it easier, perhaps, for one to gather 
from a different style of life what may be serviceable to 
one's own; for there is something estimable about every 
mode of life, although it may be somewhat veiled by 
certain peculiarities." 

"We are commanded to love our neighbors," said 
Use, "and we endeavor to do so; but when one finds 
that this love is given so cheerfully and nobly, it is 
touching; and when one sees such feeling displayed, it 
becomes an example and elevates the heart. Come, 
Franz," she said, turning to her brother, " it is not far 

from home." But Franz stumbled, and, half asleep, 
declared that his legs ached. 

"Up with you, little man," said the Professor; 
"let me carry you." 

Use, distressed, tried to prevent it. " I cannot allow 
that; it is only sleep that makes him so lazy." 

" Only till we reach the valley," said the Professor, 
raising the child on his shoulder, Franz clasped his arms 
round the Professor's neck, and, clinging close to him, was 
soon fast asleep. When they came to a steep turn of the 
road, the Professor offered the arm which was free to 
his companion; but she refused, only supporting herself 
a little with his offered hand. Thus hand in hand they 
walked down the last part of the hill into the valley, 
neither of them speaking a word. When they arrived 
at the bottom. Use gently withdrew her hand, and he 
released it without word or pressure; but these few 
minutes comprised for both a world of happy feelings. 

" Come down, Franz," said Use, taking her sleeping 
brother from the arm of her friend. She bent down to 
the little one to encourage him, and they went on to 
join the party, who were waiting for them at the brook. 

The carriage of the Crown-Inspector drew up. The 
parting greetings of his wife were very verbose, and her 
representations had mitigated his obstinacy, so that, cap 
in hand, he made up his mind to take, with tolerable 
decorum, a bite of the aforementioned sour apple. He 
approached the literary gentlemen, and asked them to 
grant him also the pleasure of a visit; and even the 
utterance of these friendly words had a softening influ- 
ence on his honest spirit. He now held out his hand to 
them, and receiving a hearty' shake, he began to think 
that the strangers were not in reality so bad as might be 
supposed. The proprietor accompanied his guests to 
the carriage, Hans passed the bandbox in, and the two 
country-gentlemen, as they bade each other good night, 
watched the starting of the two horses with the eyes of 



Whilst a bright female form was intervening be- 
tween the Professor and the Doctor, fate decreed that a 
new feud should arise betwixt the two neighboring houses 
in the city. It happened thus: 

Herr Hahn had availed himself of the absence of his 
son to beautify his property. His garden ran in a point 
up to the park, and he had bethought him much ho^w 
this corner might be turned to good' account; for the 
little elevation which he had thrown up there, and 
planted with roses, seemed unsatisfactory. He deter- 
mined, therefore, to erect a water-proof summer-house 
for such visitors as were not inclined in bad weather to 
resort to the house. Everything had been wisely consid- 
ered before the departure of his son. The following day 



he caused a jlender wooden structure to be erected, with 
small windows toward the street, and above, instead of 
a roof, a platform with benches ; the laths of the roof 
projected boldly into the air, over the wooden walls and 
garden palings. The thing looked well; but when 
Herr Hahn, with hearty satisfaction, led his wife up the 
small side steps on to the platform, and the plump lady, 
not anticipating anything wrong, sat down on the airy 
bench, and from thence looked with admiration on the 
world beneath her, it became apparent that the passen- 
gers in the street passed directly under her, and the sky 
above them was darkened to whoever passed along the 
fence by the plumage of the great bird that, perched on 
her high seat, turned her back to the street. Before a 
quarter of an hour, therefore, had passed, such sharp 
remarks were heard that the ino.ffensive Frau Hahn was 
on the point of weeping, and declared to her lord, with 
unwonted energy, that she would never again allow 
herself to be treated as a hen, or ascend the platform 
any more. The family frame of mind was not improved 
either by the part that Herr Hummel had taken, for 
he had stood by the fence of his neighbor's garden dur- 
ing this exhibition of Frau Hahn, and had laughed in- 
sultingly at the vile speeches of the people. 

Hahn, however, after a short struggle between pride 
and discretion, listened to the voice of his better self, 
removed the benches and the platform, and erected over 
the summer-house a beautiful Chinese roof; but on the 
projections of this roof he hung small bells, which 
sounded softly when the wind rose. This idea would 
have been a decided improvement; but, alas! the wick- 
edness of man gave no rest" to this work of an; for the 
urchins in the street diverted themselves by keeping some 
of the bells in movement by means of long switches. 
On the first night, therefore, the neighborhood was 
awakened from its slumbers by a concert of many bells. 

It appeared to Herr Hahn in his sleep that winter 
was come, and that a merry party of sleighs were pass- 
ing round his house; he listened, and indignantly dis- 
covered that his own bells had been excited into activ- 
ity. He hastened into the garden in his night-dress, and 
called out, angrily : 

" Who is there?" 

In a moment the ringing ceased, deep silence and 
peaceful quiet reigned around. He went up to the 
garden-house, and looked at his bells, which might be 
seen swinging under the darkened sky; but all around 
no one was to be discovered. He went back to his bed; 
but scarcely had he laid himself down when the noise 
began again, quick and loud, as if pealing for a Christ- 
mas gift. Again he rushed out of the house, and again 
the noise ceased; but when he raised himself above the 
railing and looked around, he saw in the garden oppo- 
site the broad figure of Herr Hummel standing by the 
hedge, and heard a threatening voice call out : 

" What crazy fancy is this?" 

" It is inexplicable, Herr Hummel," exclaimed Herr 
Hahn, across the street, in a conciliatory tone. 

"Nothing is inexplicable," cried out Herr Hummel, 
" but the mischievous folly of hanging bells in the open 
air over a public street." 

" I resent your attack," called out Herr Hahn, deeply 
wounded. " I have a right to hang up what I like on 
my own piece of ground." 

Now there began a conflict of opposing views across 
the street. There Hummel's bass, here Hahn's sharp 
voice, which gradually rose into a counter-tenor; both 
figures in long night-dresses, divided by the street and 
railings, but like two heroes of antiquity fighting one 
another with strong language. If one failed to per- 
ceive the wild effect given to Herr Hahn by the red 
color of his night dress, yet he might be seen towering 
upon the height near his Chinese temple, raising his 
arm imposingly from the misty horizon ; but Herr 
Hummel stood in the darkness, overshadowed by the 
wild vine. 

" I will have you before the police court, because you 
disturb the repose of the citizens," cried Herr Hummel 
at last, but felt the small hand of his wife at his back, 
who seized him by his night dress, turned him round, 
and gently entreated him not to make a scene. 

" And I will inquire before the court who gave you a 
right to heap abuse upon me across the street," called 
out Herr Hahn, likewise in the act of retiring, for 
amidst the noise of the fight he had occasionally heard 
the soft words, " Come back, Hahn," and seen his wife 
behind him wringing her hands. But he was not in a 
disposition to abandon the field of battle. 

" A light and ladder here,J' he exclaimed, " I will 
find out this shameful trick." 

The ladder and lanterns speedily made their appear- 
ance, brought by the frightened maid-servant. Herr 
Hahn mounted up to his bells, and sought long in vain; 
at last he discovered some one had contrived to unite the 
separate bells by a plait of horse-hair, and thus had 
rung them from the outside by one rope. 

This wild night was followed by a dreary morning. 

" Go to the man across the street, Gabriel," said Herr 
Hummel, "and ask if, for the sake of peace, he is will- 
ing to take away the bells immediately. I require my 
sleep, and I will not suffer that this night rabble should 
be allured to my house, make inroads upon the fence, ' 
steal my plums and break into my factory. This man, 
by his ringing, calls together all the rogues of the neigh- 

Gabriel replied : " I will go over there for the sake 
of peace; but only if I may say with civility what I 
think fit." 

" With civility?" repeated Hummel, winking slyly at 
his confidant. " You do not understand your own inter- 



est. So fine an opportunity of making yourself impor- 
tant will not occur soon again, and it would be a pity to 
let it escape you. But I foresee, Gabriel, that, civil or 
not, we shall be unable to deal with the man. He's 
malicious and obstinate and bitter. He is a bulldog, 
Gabriel. There, you have his character." 

Gabriel proceeded to poor Herr Hahn, who sat, still 
suffering, before his untasted breakfast, and looked sus- 
piciously at the inmate of the hostile house. 

"I come only to inquire," began Gabriel, adroitly, 
"whether you may, perhaps, have received intelligence 
through your son of my master?"* 

" None," answered Herr Hahn, sorrowfully; " there 
are times when everything goes wrong, dear Gabriel." 

" Yes, what a- roguish trick was played Jast night," 
said Gabriel, pityingly. 

Herr Hahn sprang up. 

" He called me insane and a coxcomb. Am I to put up 
with that? I, a man of business, and in my own gar- 
den! As regards the plaything, you may be right 
enough; one must not put too much confidence in men. 
But now my honor is touched, and I tell you the bells 
shall remain, and I shall place a watchman there every 

In vain did Gabriel speak rationally to him. Herr 
Hahn was inexorable, and called after him again as he 
was leaving: 

" Tell him we shall meet again in court." 

Accordingly he went to his attorney, and insisted 
upon bringing a suit on account of abusive language at 

" Good," said Hummel, when Gabriel returned from 
his fruitless mission. " These people compel me to take 
measures of security for myself. I will take care that 
no strange horse- hair shall be attached to my house. 
When the rogues sound the bells there, the dogs shall 
bark here. Measure for measure, Gabriel." 

He went gloomily to his factory, and paced about 
wildly. His bookkeeper, who appeared to be a much-op- 
pressed man, because he never could obtain his rights 
from Herr Hummel, thought it was his duty, and that 
it was a fitting time to speak. 

" The ideas of A. C. Hahn are absurd; all the world 
finds fault with them." 

But the speech did him no good. 

" What do this man's ideas signify to you ?" cried 
Hummel. " Are you the householder, and are you or I 
head of this business? If I choose to be angry it is my 
affair and not yours. His new clerk, Knips, wears his 
hair in frizzy curls, and perfumes himself with eau de 
cologne; you may make fun of him about that, this is 
your right. As to what concerns the rest of the world, 
your blame of this man's devices is worth about as much 
as the twittering of the sparrow on the house-top; and if 
he should every day hang a peal of bells on his shoul- 

ders and go thus into the counting-house, he would still 
remain a respectable citizen so far as this street rabble is 
concerned. Only, as regards myself, it is another thing. 
I am his neighbor day and night, and if he gets into 
trouble I also have to suffer. For the rest, I object to 
all calumnies on my fellow-men. What must be said is 
my business alone, without associates; remember that." 

A few evenings later, Gabriel was standing before 
the house-door, looking up to the heavens and watching 
whether a small black cloud, which was slowly floating 
past, would cover the face of the moon. Just as this 
took place, and the street and both houses lay in dark- 
ness, a carriage drove up to the house, and the voice of 
the master called out: "Is all well?" 

" All well," answered Gabriel, and unbuttoned the 

Herr Hummel descended heavily, and behind him 
was heard an angry growl. 

"What have you got there in the dark?" asked 
Gabriel, with much curiosity, putting his hands into the 
carriage, but he quickly withdrew them. " Will the 
rough beast bite?" 

"Yes, I hope so," replied Herr Hummel. "I mean it 
to bite. I have brought some watch-dogs against the 

He pulled out with a rope two indistinct figures, 
which rushed about yelping hoarsely, circled round 
Gabriel's legs viciously, and drew the cord round him 
like a noose. 

"Need you bring such a multitude?" cried out Ga- 
briel; " there are two of them." 

The clouds had passed away, and the moon shone 
upon both dogs. 

"They are strange beasts, Herr Hummel; they are a 
curious race — evidently mongrels," he continued, in a 
depreciating tone; "hardly medium size, thick in form, 
and with shaggy hair; the bristles hangover the muzzle 
like mustachios. The mother must have been a poodle, 
the father a spitz ; there must also have been some re- 
lationship with the pug, and the great-grandfather must 
have been a terrier. A fine production, Herr Hummel, 
and somewhat rare. How did you come by these 

"That was a peculiar accident. I could not obtain a 
dog in the village to-day; but when I was returning 
through the wood, the horses shied and would not move 
on. While the coachman was handling them, I sud- 
denly perceived near the carriage a large black man, 
standing as if he had sprung from the ground. He was 
holding the two dogs by a rope, and laughed jeeringly 
at the abuse of the coachman. 'What are you?' I called 
out to him; 'where are you taking the dogs? ' 

" 'To him who wishes to have them,' said the black 

" ' Lift them into the carriage,' said I. 



" ' I do nothing,' growled out the stranger; 'you 
must fetch them.' 

" I descended and asked, 'What do you ask for them ?' 

" 'Nothing,' said the man. 

" The matter appeared suspicious to me, but I thought 
one might at least try them. I lifted the beasts into the 
carriage; they were quiet as lambs. 'What do you call 
the dogs.'' I cried out from the carriage. 

" 'Brauhahn and Goslar,' said the man, laughing like 
a devil." 

" Those are not dogs' names, Herr Hummel," inter- 
posed Gabriel, shaking his head. 

" I said that to the man, and he replied, 'They have 
not been baptised.' 'But the rope is yours,' I said; and 
only think, Gabriel, this black fellow answered me: 
« Keep it; you may hang yourself with it.' I wished to 
throw the dogs out of the carriage again, but the man 
had vanished into the wood like a will-o'-the-wisp." 

"That is a bad story," said Gabriel, much troubled; 
■"these dogs have been reared in no Christian house. 
And will you really keep such hobgoblins?" 

"I will make the attempt," said Herr Hummel. 
"After all, a dog is a dog." 

" Be careful, Herr Hummel, there is something mys- 
terious in the beasts." 

" Nonsense!" 

" They are monsters," continued Gabriel, counting 
-on his fingers; "first, they have not the names of earthly 
dogs; secondly, they are offered without money; thirdly, 
no man knows what these beasts will eat." 

" As to their appetite, you will not have to wait long," 
replied the master of the house. 

Gabriel drew a bit of bread out of his pocket, and 
the dogs snapped at it. "In this respect they are of the 
right species," he said, a little tranquilized; "but what 
are they to be called in your house?" 

" The Brauhahn I shall call Fighthahn," replied 
Herr Hummel ; "and in my family no dog shall be called 
Goslar. I cannot bear this drink." He cast a hostile 
look at the neighboring house. "Other people have such 
stuff fetched every day across the street, but that is no 
reason why I should suffer such a word in my house- 
hold. The black shall from this day forth be called 
Fight/^a^^ and the red Spite/iaAn — that is settled. 

" But, Herr Hummel, those are clearly offensive 
names," exclaimed Gabriel ; "that will make the matter 

" That is my affair," said Herr Hummel, decidedly. 
"At night they shall remain in the yard ; they must 
guard the house." 

" So long as they do but preserve their bodies," said 
Gabriel, warningly ; "but this kind come and vanish as 
they please — not as we wish." 

" Yet they are not of the devil," rejoined Herr Hum- 
mel, laughing. 

"Who speaks of the devil?" replied Gabriel, quickly. 
"There is no devil — that the Professor will never allow; 
but of dogs we have cases." 

So saying, Gabriel took the animals into the hall. 
Herr Hummel called out into the room: "Good even- 
ing, Phillippine; here, I have brought you something." 

Frau Hummel came to the door with a light, and 
looked astonished at the present, which whined at her 
feet. This humility disposed the lady to regard them 
with benevolence. 

" But they are frightful," she said, dubiously, as the 
red and the black sat down on each side of her, wagging 
their tails and looking up at her from under their shaggy 
eyebrows. "And why are there two?" 

" They are not intended for exhibition," returned 
Herr Hummel in a pacifying tone; "they are country 
stock — one is only a deputy." 

After this presentation they were carried off to a 
shed. Gabriel once more tried their capacity of eating 
and drinking; they showed themselves thoroughly satis- 
factory in this respect, though not distinguished dogs as 
regards personal beauty, and Gabriel went to his room 
free from anxiety. 

When the clock struck ten, and the gate which di- 
vided the court-yard from the street was closed, Herr 
Hummel went down himself to the dogs' shed in order 
to initiate these new watchers in their calling. He was 
much astonished, on opening the door, to find that they 
did not require any encouraging words from him — both 
creatures rushed between his legs out into the yard. 
As if driven by an invisible whip, they coursed round 
the house and factory without ceasing — always together, 
and never silent. Hitherto they had been depressed 
and quiet; now, either on account of the good food they 
had devoured or because their night watch had come, 
they became so noisy that even Herr Hummel drew 
back in astonishment. Their hoarse short bark over- 
powered the horn of the night watchman and the call 
of their master, who wished to recommend moderation 
to them. They chased wildly round the court inces- 
santly, and a continuous yelping accompanied their 
stormy race. The windows of the house were opened. 

" This will be a stormy night, Herr Hummel," cried 
out Gabriel. 

" But, Henry, this is insupportable," cried out his 
wife from her bedroom. 

" It is only their first joy," said Herr Hummel, con- 
solingly, and withdrawing into the house. 

But this view appeared to be an error. Throughout 
the whole night the barking of the dogs sounded from 
the court-yard. In the houses of the neighborhood, 
also, shutters were thrown open, and loud words of re- 
proach addressed to Herr Hummel. The following 
morning he arose in a state of uncertainty. Even his 
own sound sleep had been disturbed by the reproaches 



of his wife, who now sat at breakfast angry and afflicted 
with a headache. When he entered the court-yard, and 
gathered from his people the complaints they had heard 
from the neighbors, even he hesitated for a moment 
whether he should keep the dogs as an addition to his 

Ill luck would have it that just at this moment the 
porter of Herr Hahn entered the court-yard, and with 
defiant mien announced that Herr Hahn must insist 
upon Herr Hummel removing this outrageous barking, 
or he should be obliged to seek redress at the police 

This attack of his opponent decided the inward 
struggle of Herr Hummel. 

" If I can bear the barking of my dogs, other people 
can do so. The bells play there and the dogs sing 
here, and if any one wishes to hear my views before the 
police court he will hear enough." 

He returned into the house and stepped up with 
dignity to his suffering wife. " You are my wife, 
Phillippine; you are a clever woman, and I will yield 
to you in everything wherein you show a rational 

" Shall two dogs come between you and me?" asked 
the wife, with faltering voice. 

" Never," replied Herr Hummel; "there must be do- 
mestic peace, and I am sorry that you have a headache, 
and to please you I would remove the beasts. But I 
have come into contact again with this coxcomb. For 
the second time he threatens me with justice and police. 
My honor is at stake, and I can no longer give in. 
Be a good wife, Phillippine, and try to bear it some 
nights with cotton in your ears, till the dogs have got 
accustomed to their work." 

" Henry," replied the wife, wearily, "I have never 
doubted your heart; but your character is rough, and 
the voices of the dogs are too horrible. Can you, in 
order to establish your jvill, see your wife suffer, and 
become seriously ill, from sleeplessness? Will you, in 
order to maintain your character, sacrifice peace with 
the neighborhood ?" 

" I do not desire that you should be ill, but I will 
not give away the dogs," replied Herr Hummel, seizing 
his felt hat, and going to the factory with heavy steps. 

If Herr Hummel indulged in the hope that he had 
ended the domestic struggle as conqueror, he was 
greatly in error. There was still another power in his 
home, who opened the campaign in a different manner. 
When Hummel approached his desk in his litttle 
counting-house, he saw near the inkstand a nosegay of 
flowers. Attached to the pink ribbon hung a note, 
which was sealed with a forget-me-not, and addressed 
— " To my dear Father." 

" That is my bright-eyed girl," he murmured, and 
opening the note read the following lines: 

" My dear pa, good morrow ! 

The dogs cause great sorrow, 

They are not delightful ; 

Their bark is just frightful ; 

Their ardor and sanguinity 

Disturb the vicinity. 

For the sake of our neighborhood, 

Be noble, generous and good." 
Hummel laughed so heartily that the work in the 
factory stopped, and every one was amazed at his good 
humor. Then he marked the note with the date of its 
reception, put it in his pocket-book, and after the exam- 
ination of the letters which arrived, he betook himself 
into the garden. He looked at his little daughter 
sprinkling the beds with her watering-pot, and his heart 
swelled with a father's pride. With what grace she 
turned and bent, and how her dark locks hung round 
the blooming face, and how actively she raised and 
swung the watering-pot; and, on perceiving him, when 
she put it down and held her finger threateningly at 
him, he was quite enchanted. 

"Verses again," he called out to her, "I have re- 
ceived Number Nine." 

"And you will be my good papa," cried Laura,, 
hastening toward him and stroking his chin; "send 
them away." 

"Look you, child," said the father, composedly. "I 
have already spoken to your mother about it, and I have 
already explained to her why I cannot dispose of them.. 
Now, I cannot do, to please you, what I have not 
yielded to your mother; that would be contrary to all 
family rule. Respect your mother, little girl. 

" You are a hard-hearted father," replied the 
daughter, pouting; "and see, you are unjust in this 

" Oh, oh! " cried the father, " is that the way you ap- 
proach me? " 

"What harm does that ringing of the bells up there 
do to us? The little summer-house is pretty, and when 
we sit in the garden in the evening, and there is a 
breeze, and the bells tinkle gently, that sounds well — it 
is like Mozart's Magic Flute." 

" There is no opera here," cried Hummel, angrily, 
"but public streets; and when my little dogs bark 
you can equally have your theatrical ideas, and imagine 
that you are in the wolf's den — in the Freischiitz." 

" No, my father," answered the daughter, eagerly, 
" you are unjust to these people ; for you wish to play 
them a trick, and that vexes me to my heart's core. It 
is not worthy of my father." 

" Yet you must bear it," replied Hummel, doggedly, 
" for this is a quarrel between men. Police regulations 
settle such affairs, and your verses are altogether out of 
place. And as regards the names, it is possible that 
other words like Adolar, Ingomar, and Marquis Posa, 
might sound better to you women. But this is no 



reason for me; my names are practical. As regards 
flowers and books, I will do much to please you, but in 
the matter of dogs I cannot take poetry into considera- 
tion." So saying, he turned his back upon his daughter, 
in order to avoid protracting the dispute. 

Laura, however, hastened to her mother's room, and 
the ladies took counsel together. 

" The noise was bad enough," complained Laura, 
" but the names are terrible. I cannot use these words, 
and you ought not to suffer our people to do so, either." 

" Dear child," answered the experienced mother, 
" one has to pass through much in this world which is 
unpleasant, but what most grieves me is that which is 
done against the dignity of women in their own houses. 
I shall say no more on the subject. I agree with you 
that both the names by which the dogs are called are 
an insult to our neighbor. But if your father were to 
discover that behind his back we called them Phoebus 
and Azor, it would make matters worse." 

" No one at least must give utterance to the other 
names who cares for my friendship," said Laura, 
decidedly, and entered into the court-yard. 

Gabriel was employing his leisure in making obser- 
vations on the new comers. He was frequently attracted 
to the dogs' shed in order to establish the certainty of 
the earthly nature of the strangers. 

"What is your opinion?" asked Laura, approaching 

" I have my opinion," answered the servant, peering 
into the interior of the shed, " namely, that there is some- 
thing suspicious about them. Did you remark the song of 
those ravens the other night? No real dog barks like 
that; they whine and moan and occasionally groan and 
speak like little children. They eat like other dogs, but 
their mode of life is unusual. See, now they cower 
down, as if they had been struck on the mouth because 
the sun shines on them. And then, dear young lady, 
the name!" 

Laura looked with curiosity at the beasts. 

" We will alter the names secretly, Gabriel ; this one 
shall only be called Ruddy." 

" That would certainly be better; it would at least 
not be an insult to Herr Hahn, but only to the tenant of 
the basement." 

"What do you mean by that?" 

" The porter who lives out there is called Ruddy." 

"Then," decided Laura, "the red monster shall from 
henceforth be named The Other; our people shall 
call him Andres.* Tell this to the workmen in the 

"Andres!" replied Gabriel. "The name will just 
suit him. It will be too much honor to him." 

Thus were kind hearts occupied in preventing the 
bad signification of the name; but in vain, for, as Laura 

M wi/rui means " the other." 

had correctly noted in her diary, when the ball of mis- 
chief has been thrown amongst men, it mercilessly hits 
the good as well as the bad. The dog was supplied 
with the most inoffensive name that ever was given; 
but through a wonderful complication of circumstances, 
which bid defiance to all human sagacity, it happened 
that Herr Hahn himself bore the name of Andreas. 
Thus the double name of the animal became a double 
affront to the neighboring house, and bad and good in- 
tentions mingled together in a thick, black soup of 

Early in the morning Herr Hummel appeared at the 
door, and defiantly, like Ajax, called the two dogs by 
their hostile names. The porter, Ruddy, heard the call 
in the cellar, hastened to his master's room, and informed 
him of this horrible affront. Frau Hahn endeavored 
not to believe the thing, and maintained that they should, 
at least, wait for the confirmation of it. This confirma- 
tion did not fail to come; for at noonday Gabriel opened 
the door of the place where the dogs were confined, and 
made the creatures come out for a quarter of an hour's 
sunning in the garden. Laura, who was sitting among 
her flowers, and was just looking out for her secret 
ideal — a famous singer, who, with his glossy black hair 
and military gait was just passing by — determined, like 
a courageous maiden, not to peer after her favorite 
through the foliage of the vine arbor, and turned toward 
the dogs. In order to accustom the red one to his new 
name, she enticed him with a bit of cake, and called him 
several times by the unfortunate name, " Andres." At 
the same moment, Dorchen rushed to Frau Hahn, say- 
ing: "It is true; now even Fraulein Laura calls it by 
the Christian name of our master." 

Frau Hahn stepped to the window much shocked, 
and herself heard the name of her dear husband. 
She retreated quickly, for this insult of her neighbor's 
brought tears into her eyes, and she sought for her 
pocket-handkerchief to wipe them away unperceived by 
her maid. Madame Hahn was a good woman, calm 
and agreeable, with a tendency to plumpness and 
an inclination quietly to do anything for the sake of 
peace. But this heartlessness of the daughter roused 
her anger. She instantly fetched her cloak from the 
closet, and went with the utmost determination across 
the street to the garden of the hostile neighbors. 

( To be continued.) 

The richest genius, like the most fertile soil, when 
uncultivated, shoots up into the rankest weeds; and, in- 
stead of vines and olives for the pleasure and use of man, 
produces to its slothful owner the most abundant crop 
of poisons. — Hume. 

From nature we possess no defect that could not be- 
come a virtue, and no virtue that could not become a 
fault. — Goethe. 



[The Open Court acknowledges the receipt of all hooks, but the editor 
cannot pledge liitnselj to have all revieTi/ed.'\ 

Physiography. By W. Mawer, F. G. S. London: John Marshall & Co. 

Geological Evidences of Evolution. By Ang-elo Heilprin. Phila- 
delphia: By the Author. 

The Man Who Was Guilty. By Flora Haines Longhead. Boston: 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

Winter. From the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau. Boston: Houg-hton, 
Mifflin & Co. 

A Home Study IN Natural History. By Dr. Felix P. Oswald. Cin- 

Thomas Paine; The Author-Hero of the Revolution. By Juliet H. 
Severance. Chicag-o: The Alarm Company. 

The Study of Religion. By James Martineau. Two vols. London; Henry 
Frowde. New York: MacMillan & Co. 

A Dissertation on Theism. By Hy. Truro Bray, M. A., LL.D. Boone- 
ville, Mo. : By the Author. 

The Trial of the Judgment; A Review of the Anarchist Case. By 
Gen. M. M. Trumbull. Chicago: Health and Home Publishing Company. 

Annual Report of the Trustees of the Perkins Institution. Bos- 
ton: Wright & Potter Printing Company. 

Kindergarten for the Blind. Boston: Rand- Avery Company. 

Somebody asked a foreigner to take venison. '* No," said he, '* I never 
eat wensen." — " Oh! '* said his friend, *'I wonder at your saying so; if venison 
is not better than mutton why does venison cost so much more ?" — ** Vy ? I tell 
yoU| vy; in dis verit de people alvays prefers vat is deerto vat is sheep.'* 

A great eater, going to a dinner party, remarked to his entertainer that he 
had lost his appetite : " God be praised," said the host, *' I onty hope none of the 
company has found it." 


La philosophic religieuse en Angleterre depuis Locke jusqu' a 
nos jours, par Ludovic Carrau, Directeur des conferences de 
philosophic k la Faculte des Lettres de Paris (i vol. in S° de la 
biblioth^que de philosophic contemporaine. Paris: Fdlix Alean, 

L'auteur s'est propose dans ce livre d'^tudier les principales 
doctrines religieuses qui se sont succede dans la philosophic 
anglaisc depuis Locke et Clarke. Neuf chapitres sont ainsi con- 
sacres a Berkeley, a la morale ct a I'analogie de Butler, aux 
D^istes anglais, k David Hume, a Hamilton, a Stuart Mill, a Mr. 
Herbert Spencer, a Mr. Abbot. 

L'exposition est exacte et complete, la discussion pendtrante. 
L'auteur, tout en se maintenant dans son role d'historien et de 
critique, ne s'interdit pas d'avoir une opinion motivee sur des 
problemes dont aucun homme qui pense ne saurait se ddsinteres- 
ser. II combat le scepticisme religieux de Hume, aussi bien que 
I'evolutionisme et la theorie de I'inconnaissable de Spencer, et 
dans une conclusion courte mais substantielle, il expose les raisons 
philosophiques qu'il croit avoir d'admettre un Dieu crdateur et 
personnel; le style est toujours clair et permet de suivre ais^ment 
la pens^e; sans rien dissimuler de la difficulte des problemes, il 
en rend I'accfes possible-a ceux-la mSme qui n'ont pas fait des 
questions philosophiques I'objet exclusif de leurs Etudes. 

••• Revue Philosophique. ••• 

Otto ^Wettstein's 
Jewelry Store, 

NO. DE JANVIER, 1888. 



A. £SP/JVAS, revolution mentale chez les animaux. 

J^. PA ULHAN, I'associationnisme et I'a synthase psychique. 

ADAM, Pascal et Descartes. 

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EDWARD C. HEGELER, Pr,siJein. DR. PAUL CARL'S, Editor.. 

The Open Court is a fortnightly journal devoted to the work of conciliating Relip:ion with Science. The founder and editor have found this conciliation 
in Monism — to present and defend which is the main object of Thb Open Court. It contains in its recent numbers: 

The Specific Energies of the Nervous System, - - - dr. ewald hering. 

In Nos. 22 avd 23. 
Ewald Hering", Professor of Physiolog-y at the University of Prague — the same to whom the£«cyc. ffriV., under the heading of Physiologv, devotes several col- 
umns- pres nts in this essay, in most popularlanguage, the lea'ding ideas in the recent investigations of physiology. His essay on Memory is contained in Nos. 6 and 7. 

The Education of Parents by their Children, - - - carus sterne. 

In Nos. 22 and 2j. 
An essay full of fine thoug^ht and psychological depth. 

The Fool in the Drama, franz helbig- 

/« Nns. 22 and 23. 
Franz Helbig, an able scholar, whose attainments as an author on historical subjects, especially in the domain of the history of civilizafon, are much- 
appreciated, contrasts in this article folly and wisdom and shows the philosophical significance of the fool as a character on the sta^e. 

Evolution and Idealism, ........ prof. e. d. cope. 

In No. 23. 
A very able statement of Positivism and scientific inquirv versus the imagination of a wrong Idealism. Prof. Cope treats this subject with perspicuity 
and strength. 

The Social Problem and the Church, ..... morrison i. swift. 

In No. 23. 
The .luthor of this article asks the Churches to boldly face the problem of the day, and expects them to do their duty in the field of social reform. 

The Ethics of Economics, geo. m. gould. 

In Nos. 24, 25 and 26. 
It will save us much distress if in political economy we begin with ethics instead of being driven to it by painful experience. Labor is the life-blood 
of man, and the ethical significan-'e of money is that it represents labor. The author inculcates that labor and money paid for labor should be equivalent. 

The Process of Progress, ■ - ' rudolf weyler. 

In No. 24, 

The problem of death treated in connection with the progress oi evolution. 

Language, g. p. powell.. 

In Nos, 24 and 26. 

This essay of the American scholar should be compared with the essays by Max MUUer. The study of language is of interest to the lawyer as weir 
as the clergyman, the scientist as well as the teacher. 

Reflex Motions, g. h. Schneider. 

In No. 24. 

G. H. Schneider's book, Der Menschlicke JVtVe, is one of the most prominent delineations of modern psychological research. The essay on Reflex 
Motion contains the fundamental propositions of physiological psychology. 

The Value of Doubt in the Study of History, - - - gen. m. m. trumbull- 

/n J^o. 2J. 
It will be interesting lo the veterans of 1861-65 to read the article of their famous comrade. The essay of General Trumbull may serve as an introduc- 
tion to the many war accounts and memoirs. Teachers can read the article with their students as an instructive lesson for historical 'research. 

Determinism versus Indeterminism, prof, georg von gizycki. 

In Kos. 2y and 2b. 
George Von Gizycki is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Berlin. His name is well known beyond the boundary of his country. The problem 
of the Freedom of the Will has perhaps never been treated in a clearer and more forcible 

To Arms, and - - ■ - ------, 

T',. o^ „ ^ T T V wheelbarrow. 

iHE FoETS OF Liberty and Labor, 

In Nos. 22 and 2b. 
Wheelbarrow has rapidly gained a well deserved reputation as an author. He treats the social question from the standpoint of a laborer and speaks 
from his own experience. He unites in his writings Old Saxon simplicity, sincerity of heart, the truthfi ' " " " 


and right. 

nplicity, sincerity of heart, the truthfulness of honesty and warm sympathy for justice- 

The Simplicity of Language, 

The Identity of Language and Thought, - - - - J- max mDller. 

Persona, ......... 

- ,'. In Nos. Q'll, 12- r 4 and iq~20. 

Max MUller's essays not only he reatlji they must be studied; and we should be very greatful that the eminent philologist uses so simple language. 
In spite of all the simplicity of Max MilUcr's style_, it takes much careful study to fathom the depth of his thoughts. 

Gustav Freytag's novel, The Lost Manuscript, commences in No. 22. Reference is made to the significance of this famous work of fiction in Editoral 
Notes of No. 22 and No. 26. ' * 

The Open Court's definition of Religion is found in a letter of Mr. E. C. Hegeler's, published in No. 35, and in the editorial of No. 24, "Monism 
and Religion." 

The editorial of No. 25, "Anarchism and Socialism," is an impartial and objective review of the social questic 

The editorial of No. 25, "Evolution and Immortality," grapples with the probUms of death and immortality in their mutual relation and proposes their 
solution by the evolutionary doctrine, as viewed from the standpoint of Monism. 


The Open Court 


Devoted to the Work of Conciliating Religion -with Science. 

No. 28. (Vol. II.— 2.) 


( Three Dollars per Year, 
I Single Copies, lo cts. 



Religion is man's consciousness of his relation to 
the All. The truth that underlies all religions is mani- 
fested in love toward God and man. 

Denominational differences are rifts in the oneness 
of humanity, clefts in the all-unifying religion of man- 

As the sun is reflected in the tiniest dew-drop while 
giving light unto a world, so the grandeur of the All, 
while pervading the whole universe, is mirrored in every 
human heart. 

God made man after his own likeness and after his 
own likeness hath every man made his God. 

Many define the soul as the unintelligible in our- 
selves and God as the unintelligible in the universe. 
Others say, " There is no God, man has no soul." Need 
we add that both are wrong? 

Man stands on earth, yet towers into the heavens 
In him creator and creation meet. He is born of the 
world, yet is the son of God ; every man is a demi-god, 
and the myth of divinity in man is immutable, universal 
and eternal. 

There are sparks of divinity in every man's nature; 
yet, like the sparks of flint, they must be struck into life. 

The conscience of a nation finds utterance in the 
words of its greatest men; and as there is no man that 
has not at some time violated the dictates of his con- 
science, so there is no nation that hath not at some time 
misjudged and execrated, persecuted and executed its 
legislators, its prophets, its benefactors and its teachers. 

Jesus taught love and peace. He preached self- 
examination, severity unto oneself, indulgence toward 
others, hate of sin, pardon of sinners. He taught trust 
in God, incessant efforts to gather lasting treasures, and 
to scorn what is perishable. His prayer was no humili- 
ation of self before a deity, but the discourse of a son 
with his father. He denounced injustice and hypocrisy, 
yet fell himself a victim to the blindness of the masses 
and the villainy of the wicked. 

• Men of mediocrity can espouse with ardor only the 
cause of self, never that of humanity. Selfishness is the 
atmosphere of their existence; in the realm of the ideal 
their vitality becomes benumbed. 

Our mission in life is like unto the office of a Vestal 
Virgin, to keep perpetually burning within us the holy 
flame of divinity. 

Of all the battles of our life the struggle with the 
evil within us is the fiercest and most fraught with 
danger; the victory of the good over the evil in us is 
the most glorious we can ever win. 

The approval of the world is not always to be 
gained, but our own approval is always within reach. 
The world sees the results of our actions; we alone 
know their motives. 

By stumbling and falling we come to know the path 
through life. 

Be cautious in thy way through the fields of life; 
learn to know the poisonous plants and to find the use- 
ful and the good. 

Every season of the year, every period of life, has 
its own peculiar and matchless charms; one can never 
decide which should be preferred. 

There is a center of attraction in life, as well as in 
matter; how gleefully we approach it, how reluctantly 
we leave it! 

There are events in our lives which are not fairly 
understood until we live them over again m our mem- 
ories; just as in a thoughtful book there are passages 
that need repeated perusal for a thorough understand- 

To teach — to scatter seeds in youthful minds with- 
out ever being able to conjecture the abundance of 
blessings that may grow therefrom unto humanity — what 
a noble calling! 

Not those that are called teachers teach the best ; the 
words of the wise and the deeds of the noble are the 
educators of humanity. 

What the world calls education is chiefly mere train- 
ing; discipline makes skillful, culture elevates. 

The better we are, the more satisfaction our con- 
science gives; the more temperate we are, the less 
trouble our body causes; and the more we reduce our 
wants, the greater our independence ! 

How enviable is the lot of a tree! Again and 
again spring returns, until its life is ended. 

Wickedness is folly; the wicked man is an insane 
man; he injures himself as well as others. 



Have nothing to conceal and you will enjoy the in- 
estimable right of being always sincere. 

Truth is like the sun; whatever darkens it is but a 
passing cloud. 

If a truth declines in one part of the world it rises 
like the sun in another. 

If always we speak the truth, our words will always 
bear an imprint that gives them currency. 

Truth hits the mark; falsehood rebounds and strikes 
the marksman. 

Ordinary men are like shallow cisterns. What little 
intellect and feeling they possess is never renewed. It 
is stale and soon exhausted. Great men are like deep 
wells. Their intellect and feeling are fed from never- 
failing sources; are ever fresh and inexhaustible. 

With the multitude the shrewd pass for wise men, 
the wise for fools. 

The words of a wise man are like unto jewels; the 
expert alone can appreciate their worth ; the ignorant 
leave them unnoticed. 

The truly great learn most from themselves and 
from the book of nature. 

To the wise man the present is always the climax of 
life, whence past and future are alike visible. 

However long the life of a wise man may be, 'tis 
yet short, and however short, it has yet been long 

Happiness lies within certain limits. In the ardor of 
pursuit, man easily overleaps these limits, and fancying 
himself still approaching his goal he is but getting 
farther and farther away from it. 

Not only the world but we ourselves are too prone 
to judge of our virtues and capacities according as we 
succeed or fail. 

A fool wants always to have people about him. It is 
quite natural that he should grow weary of his own 

The primary conditions of healtK and happiness are 
within us; we have only to conform to them the second- 
ary and accidental influences. With our health, we 
generally trust all to nature and too little to ourselves. 
With our happiness, we are too little mindful of the 
essential within, and pursue too eagerly the non-essen- 
tial without. 

We often impute to chance what is but the natural 
consequence of our own conduct. 

Could we weigh the happiness of every man in the 
same scales, we should find that after all the gifts of for- 
tune are not so unequally distributed. 

The fountain-head of happiness is contentment of 
heart, which springs from the ascendancy of the good 
over the evil in us. 

The best, the noblest deeds of man have been 
inspired by love — by love for a human soul or by love 
for mankind. 

The determining principle in the spiritual is the same 
as that in the physical world: Love, the law of attraction. 


Part II. 

The national government of this country, as a mat- 
ter of course, must receive from the American people a 
revenue amply sufficient to perform its duties under the 
Constitution and laws of the United States. Our Amer- 
ican Constitution, as amended in consequence of our 
late civil war, speaks of the revenue of the government 
as follows: 

" Representatives and direct taxes shall be appor- 
tioned among the several states which may be included 
within this Union according to their respective numbers, 
counting the whole number of persons in each state 
and excluding Indians not taxed." 

" All bills for raising revenue shall originate in the 
House of Representatives; but the Senate may propose 
or concur with amendments as on other bills." 

" The Congress shall have power to lay and collect 
taxes, duties, imposts, and excises to pay the debts 
and provide for the common defense and general wel- 
fare of the United States; but all duties, imposts and 
excises shall be uniform throughout the United States." 

" No capitation or other direct tax shall be laid, unless 
in proportion to the census or enumeration herein before 
directed to be taken." 

" No tax or duty shall be laid on articles exported 
from any state." 

" No preference shall be given by any regulation of 
commerce or revenue to the ports of one state over those 
of another; nor shall vessels bound to or from one state 
be obliged to enter, clear or pay duties in another." 

" No state shall, without the consent of the Congress, 
lay any imposts or duties on imports or exports, except 
what may be absolutely necessary for executing its 
inspection laws; and the net produce of all duties and 
imposts laid by any state on imports or exports, shall be 
for the use of the Treasury of the United States; and 
all such laws shall be subject to the revision and control 
of Congress." 

Both the present protective feature of the customs 
system and the whole internal revenue system of the 
United States are results and relics of our late civil war. 
They are not only unjust and illogical, but also danger- 
ous to the material welfare of the American people, 
because they may create, as at present, a surplus, 
derived from them, in the Treasury of the United States, 
that is, large sums of the people's money uselessly locked 
up in the vaults of that office. The sums comprised in 


80 1 

such a surplus, for which the government has no use 
under existing laws, are prevented from circulating 
among the people for business purposes, and thus render 
money scarce in this country. A change, therefore, in 
our national taxation seems to be and is plainly neces- 
sary. Which shall it be? Can it not be a radical one? 

From the clauses quoted above, it is to be seen that 
our American Constitution leaves it, within certain lim- 
its, to the option of Congress to determine the ways and 
means by which the revenue necessary for the support 
of our national government and for meeting its legiti- 
mate obligations, shall be raised. The customs, there- 
fore, and the internal revenue may be completely abol- 
ished. Yet, which other tax or taxes shall take their 
places? It would not do to tax real and personal prop- 
erty also for national purposes, as they are taxed for 
State or local purposes, because they are not uniformly 
assessed, for taxation, in the several states and territo- 
ries of the Union. 

In the United States all taxes being paid in money, 
the most correct, natural and logical national tax of this 
country, seems to be one relating to the money or income 
of every American citizen or resident alien; namely, an 
individual income tax. Such a tax would be in full har- 
mony with the Constitutional provisions quoted above. 

Under such a tax every head of a family or other 
person in the United States having an income of his or 
her own, should, by law, be bound annually to pay a 
certain percentage of his or her tiet income, reaching a 
certain sum, for the support of our national government. 
From this tax all persons should be exempt, not having 
a net annual income of five hundred dollars, or of one 
thousand dollars, or of any other amount Congress 
might see fit to fix for this purpose. A man's net income 
consists of what he acquires by his business and from 
other sources, after deduction of all his business expendi- 
tures and of his state and local taxes. Personal or fam- 
ily expenses would, of course, be included in and could 
not be deducted from a net taxable income. 

The percentage referred to should be uniform in all 
parts of the Union, for every taxpayer and for every dol- 
lar taxed. Thus, if, for instance, a net annual income of 
one thousand dollars would pay a tax of one dollar, a 
net annual income of two thousand dollars should pay a 
tax of two dollars, a net annual income of three thousand 
dollars a tax of three dollars, and so on. This would 
be a simple income-tax, increasing in arithmetical pro- 
gression, and taxing every dollar of taxable incomes, 
high or low, alike. This would be the only just kind of 
an income-tax, under our American principle of equal 
rights for all, in all matters of public concern. A man 
with a larger net income claims and enjoys the protec- 
tion of the government for it to a larger extent than a 
man with a smaller net income. For this reason, if the 
two incomes be taxable, the former should pay more 

tax than the latter, but on a strictly and absolutely equal, 
uniform basis. A so-called graduated income-tax, in- 
creasing at a higher rate than the one stated and taxing 
a dollar of a higher taxable income higher than a dollar 
of a lower taxable income, would be a flagrant violation 
of the principle referred to and utterly wrong, robbing 
the few for the benefit of the many. It would punish 
men for being wealthy, which would be the silliest 
thing in the world. There are, it is true, men in this 
country with colossal fortunes, exceeding the bounds of 
reason and common sense. Yet, for this fact, not 
strictly those men are responsible or to be blamed, but 
our perverse American political economy. Those 
men are rather to be praised for their shrewdness, 
although not always for their philanthropy. The simple 
income-tax suggested, together with other measures to 
be mentioned presently, might somewhat affect those 
colossal fortunes, yet it could and would not eradicate 
the present Croesuses in the United States, who own 
their wealth legitimately. It might, however, help to 
prevent the growth of new ones. The richest men of 
this country being the railroad magnates, a few words 
may be devoted to them. 

The railroads of this country, as a matter of course, 
are most excellent things and very useful to the Ameri- 
can people. Yet, the private corporations owning them, 
have built them for the sole purpose of making money. 
For this reason, all the property in this country belong- 
ing to railroad companies, because it enjoys exactly the 
same local public protection as all other private property, 
should also be taxed as that other private property both 
for state or territorial and for municipal purposes. To 
such taxation also all unimproved land should be sub- 
ject, held by railroad companies. Under the two funda- 
mental laws of this country, the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, which by the categorical dictum of a compe- 
tent law-giving body has created the United States as a 
political division of the earth, and which is proclaiming 
the principle of equal rights for all, in all matters of 
public concern ; and the Constitution of the United 
States, decreeing a Republican form of government for 
every state of the Union, no such state has a right to 
forego its paramount prerogative, namely that of taxation, 
in favor of private corporations, in the shape of railroad 
companies, and at the expense of all its other inhabitants. 

Under the two fundamental laws named and partic- 
ularly on account of its limited powers under the 
Constitution, Congress has no right to aid private com- 
panies in the construction of railroads by land grants 
and by public credit, although it has repeatedly exer- 
cised the might to do so. Any legitimate business, 
based upon private means, is, of course, commendable. 
Yet, no fair-minded man in this country will ever apply 
for government aid in his private business, because he is 
not entitled to it and would be unjustly benefited by 



the same, at the expense of all his American fellow- 
citizens. If any man or any number of men would 
have a just claim to be aided by Congress, in a private 
undertaking-, everybody in this country would have such 
a claim, namely, to be aided by Congress in his private 
business. Would not this be the greatest nonsense? If 
a railroad becomes necessary or desirable in any part of 
the Union, it should be built strictly with private means. 
Yet, if government means be employed for its construc- 
tion, it should also be constructed in the name of and 
for the government, that is, the whole American people, 
^d not in the name and for the account of private parties. 
The Constitution of the United States contains two 
clauses relating to this subject. They read : 

The Congress shall have power * * * to regulate com- 
merce with foreign nations, and among the several states, and 
with the Indian tribes; * * * to establish post-offices and 

In pursuance of the former provision Congress has 
passed an interstate commerce law, being in operation 
now by means of a commission. 

Under the latter provision Congress has plainly the 
power, in the name and for the account of the whole 
American people to build railroads, to be used as post- 
roads. It has also the power to grant, free of charge, 
the right of way over the public domain of the Ameri- 
can people, to private parties, for the construction 
of railroads, to be used as post-roads. Yet, it 
has not the power, by land grants and by subsi- 
dies or financial help, to aid private corporations in 
the construction of railroads, serving in the main for 
the transportation of freight and of passengers, and 
only incidentally for that of the mail. Justice, fairness, 
and common sense admit no other interpretation of the 
passage quoted of our American Constitution. Accord- 
ing to its preamble, this fundamental law by the follow- 
ing clause: "The congress shall have power to dis- 
pose of and make all needful rules and regulations 
respecting the territory or other property belonging to 
the United States," plainly does not mean that Con- 
gress shall have power to donate the public domain of 
the American people to private corporations for specu- 
lative purposes. Congress, however, as mentioned be- 
fore, has extensively aided railroad companies in the 
wrong manner stated, thus enabling a number of pelf- 
loving men to grow immensely rich at the expense of 
all their American fellow-citizens. Such companies 
not having been entitled to the government aid they 
have received, the small item of the right of way 
excepted, they are also not entitled to enjoy its profits in 
an unrestricted manner. In reality, to the full extent of 
that unjust aid, the whole American people may be con- 
sidered as partners in such railroads. For this reason 
Congress doubtless has the right and power to control 
every railroad of this country that has been constructed 

with government aid, as to the passenger fare and the 
freight rates to be charged by the corporation owning 
the road, and perhaps also as to the minimum wages to 
be paid by the company to their employes. 

The foregoing principles, applying to railroads, with 
equal force and justice also apply to other private con- 
cerns, having been aided or seeking to he aided by the 
government. However excellent things and however 
useful to the American people they may be, yet Con- 
gress, under the fundamental laws of this country, has 
no right to aid private companies engaged in such con- 
cerns otherwise than by granting them, free of charge, 
the right of way over the public domain of the Ameri- 
can people, provided such aid be of any use to such 
companies and of advantage to our national govern- 
ment. Under our American Constitution, Congress has 
absolutely no power to aid such private concerns by 
general land grants or by subsidies. Yet, after they 
have been established by private means, our national 
government is, of course, entitled to patronize them 
freely. Telegraph lines, to a certain extent, answering 
the same purpose as post-roads. Congress doubtless has 
the constitutional power to establish such lines in the 
name and at the expense of the American people. So 
much on this subject. 

For the collection of the income-tax suggested, every 
person of age in the United States, having an income 
of his or her own, should, by law, be compelled at a 
stated time, perhaps between the first day of April and 
the thirtieth day of June, to declare, under oath, his or 
her net income during the preceding calendar year. If 
the person referred to be a minor, or otherwise legally 
incapacitated to do this himself, the taking of the oath 
and the paying of his income-tax would have to be 
attended to by his guardian. As a kind of perfunctory 
act, the percentage of all taxable net incomes, to be 
levied as income-tax, would have to be fixed by Con- 
gress, annually, as soon as possible after its meeting, in 
December, according to the requirements of the gov 
ernment for the current fiscal year (ascertained by the 
sum total of the appropriations, including those relating 
to the public debt made by Congress during its preced 
ing session), and according to the total amount of taxa- 
ble net incomes reported by the national revenue offi- 
cers throughout the country, charged with the collection 
of the income-tax. This tax should then be collected 
perhaps during the time from the date, when the per- 
centage referred to would have been fixed, to the 
thirty-first day of March. If such a tax be adopted for 
this country. Congress, to avoid embarrassments of the 
United States Treasury, would have to see to it, that 
during the first six or perhaps nine months of the 
fiscal year, in which this tax would be collected 
for the first time, the necessary revenue of the National 
government would be raised yet in the old way. 



In fact, according to the plan suggested, one-half, or 
another sufficient portion, of the income-tax collected 
during a fiscal year, would have to be used by our 
national government during the first six months of the 
next fiscal year. Such a course, as to the time of fixing 
the rate of the income-tax and of collecting and dis- 
bursing this tax, would become necessary, because every 
other year there is a short session of Congress, ending 
on the fourth day of March. This state of affairs, how- 
ever, could be easily changed, if, by a Constitutional 
amendment, both the term of a Congress and that of 
the Presidency and Vice-Presidency of the United 
States would commence on the first day of July, instead 
of on the fourth day of March. In case of the adoption 
of such a constitutional amendment, all the taxable net 
incomes, throughout the United States, could be annually 
ascertained, as suggested, from the first day of January 
to the thirty-first day of March, and if Congress would 
timely make its appropriations for the succeeding fiscal 
year, it could also annually fix the required percentage 
of all the taxable net incomes, for the income-tax, by 
the thirtieth day of June, the close of the fiscal year. 
Then the collection of this tax for the new fiscal year 
could be commenced on the first day of July and be 
ended by the thirty- first day of December. 

Special items of income in the United States Treas- 
ury, for instance those from the sale of public lands, 
would have to be annually deducted from the sum total 
of the income-tax required for government expenses 
A fitting annual period for making this deduction could 
be easily enacted by Congress. On account of possible 
business failures of tax-payers between the time when 
the net mcomes would be declared under oath and the 
time when the income-tax would be collected. Con- 
gress, in its discretion, would have to fix the percentage 
referred to somewhat higher than it would have to be 
according to a strict arithmetical division. That our 
national government might not be embarrassed in its 
operations, for want of funds, caused by the non-pay- 
ment of such an income-tax. Congress would have to 
pass the strictest laws for enforcing its prompt payment. 
Any person's frivolous and willful refusal to state a net 
income under oath or affirmation, or to pay the income- 
tax, might be punished even with imprisonment. 

The abolition of our American customs system and 
the adoption of a national income-tax might perhaps not 
benefit some overgrown manufacturing establishments 
in this country. Yet, these measures would doubtless 
call forth numberless smaller manufacturing establish- 
ments — perhaps on a co-operative plan — in different 
parts of the Union, which fact would be a blessing to 
the whole American people. 

There are those who say that a national income-tax 
would cause a good deal of perjury in this country. 
Yet, it is the American tax that, if permanently estab- 

lished, would soon render the American people truthful 
as to its payment. The truthfulness of a free nation 
can be affected only by erroneous legislation, in favor of 
classes of the people, but never by a just, sound, and 
uniform tax for the support of a government of the peo- 
ple, by the people and for the people, as our national 
government, and also every American state and munici- 
pal government, happily is this. 

Both the interest on and the bonds of our American 
public debt being payable in gold, a correct solution of 
the silver question would doubtless have to precede the 
adoption of a national income-tax for this country. Cor- 
rect silver dollars, being on a par with gold coin as to 
their bullion value, would cause gold coin to circulate as 
freely in this country as silver coin, and thus enable our 
national government to derive from a national income- 
tax the necessary amount of gold coin for meeting its 
gold obligations. 

As George Washington, the " Father of his Coun- 
try," " first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts 
of his countrymen," in his Farewell Address, truly says, 
" honesty is always the best policy," both in the public 
and private life of the American people. 


Every conception of the world which is not consist- 
ent must, in the end, prove dualistic. If it pretends to be 
monistic, its logical consequence, if developed to the ut- 
most, will lead to dualism. It is generally recognized 
that spiritualism is dualistic, and the advocates of super- 
naturalism frankly confess their dualism. But also jnate- 
rialism is just as dualistic as its antagonistic view. If the 
world is to be explained from dead matter, the force of 
logical argument leads us to assume some unknown 
force beyond or behind matter, and materialism will 
change into agnosticism. 

One of the most important questions is that of the 
cause of gravity. Two solutions are possible: Either 
the force of attraction is immanent, it lies within — or it 
is external, it lies without matter. Either matter at- 
tracts matter, or matter is -pushed toward matter. Either 
matter is in self-motion, or it is moved. If matter is dead 
we are obliged to resort to the latter solution. But if we 
accept the former solution, we must consider self-motion 
as an ultimate property of matter. If matter is inert 
and deprived of force we must assume that there is some 
other substance besides matter. The world then consists 
first of matter and secondly of ether — or whatever the 
pushing agens outside of the dead matter may be called. 

The solution of the problem of gravity is not yet 
definitely settled; but we wish to inform our readers of 
the present state of the subject and shall therefore pre- 
sent two essays on the ultimate properties of matter, one 
of which is published in this number. 

Le Sage's theory is perhaps the most consistent the- 



ory of a kinetic or mechanical explanation, which almost 
seems satisfactory from the standpoint of materialism. 
Wilhelm Stoss thinks that Le Sage's theory is much 
strengthened by Falb's hypothesis of earthquakes; and 
as he presents and states the problem so clearly and so 
correctly in an essay published in the Gegenivari, a 
translation of it was procured for The Open Court. 
In the next number of The Open Court we shall pub- 
lish an essay by J. G. Vogt, which treats the subject 
from another standpoint, which he calls " Monism of 
Reality " [Real-Monismus). 

We reserve our judgment, as we believe that the 
problem is not yet mature. Many other questions must 
be answered before we can, with any hope of success, 
approach the problem of gravity, and we present the 
attempts made to explain the cause of gravity as what 
they are, ingenious hypotheses. p. c. 


Translated from the German in the Gegenwart by F. W. Morton. 

The recognition which Falb's theory of earthquakes 
has met is largely due to his conclusions that the origin of 
earthquakes is attributable to cosmical causes. That the 
sun is for our planet the source of existence and life, and, 
likewise, that the phenomena of ebb and tide are prin- 
cipally expressions for lunar influence, there can be no 
doubt. It immediately follows that a similar influence 
is exerted on the molten mass in the interior of the 
earth. It isjhe proof of such an influence that Falb has 
sought to deduce beyond a question in his theory of 

It is a peculiarity of human inquiry that whenever a 
forward step has been taken in the knowledge of things, 
a question is raised as to the new facts revealed. When 
we have answered one " Why " another immediately 
suggests itself. Herein lies the deep truth of Haller's 
words: " Into nature's mystery of mysteries no human 
spirit can press." For instance, if we regard earth- 
quakes as but a manifestation of the attractive power 
which the sun and moon exert upon the earth, the new 
question immediately arises: How can the sun and 
moon act in this way upon the earth ? What is the orig- 
inal cause of this action? This question is in no wise a 
new one. At times an answer to it has been attempted 
in different ways; and then again, as lying beyond the 
scope of human inquiry, no answer has been ventu,red. 

There are two theories of nature which directly op- 
pose each other, the dynamic and the atomic. The 
former explains the reciprocal action between the 
spheres by a force simply, without the intervention of a 
material medium; the latter maintains the existence of 
such a medium, which fills the universe and produces 
the reciprocal action of the spheres by transmission of 
motion. Furthermore, opinions have differed widely in 

respect to the nature of this medium. These systems 
are designed rather to explain attraction on earth than 
universal attraction. 

From Leucippus and Democritus to the present 
day one atomic system after another has sprung into 
being. Leucippus, Democritus and Plutarch assumed, 
as the original cause of attraction, vast, simple rototary 
motions of the atoms. To this assumption reverted, 
in a later day, Kepler, Torricelli, Gassendi, Descartes, 
Huygens and others. Malebranche and Euler, on 
the other hand, interposed small rotatory motions 
within the great; Jean Bernoulli assumed light as a 
medium; Gautier, electricity; Micheli, magnetism; 
Wallis, Le Cat, De la Rive and others, common air; 
and so forth. Newton did not apply himself earnestly 
to the task of investigating the causes of universal attrac- 
tion. '■'■Nam multa me movent, ut nonnihil suspt'cer 
* * * quibus viribus cognitis philosophi hactenus 
naturam. frustra tentarunt" says he in the preface to 
his " Frincipia." The first to extend this theory to 
universal attraction, and especially to the attraction be- 
tween sun, earth and moon, was Le Sage. Of him there 
is but little known, since only a few fragments of his 
numerous manuscripts have been published. This ex- 
plains why he is so little known to kindred modern 
scientists, many of whom have entirely erroneous no- 
.tions of his theory. Take up the latest theories of 
Schramm, Thomsen, Zollner, Von Dellingshausen, Isen- 
krahe and others; either the theory of Le Sage is not 
mentioned at all, or only casually and incorrectly. 

Le Sage was born on July 23, 1724, at Geneva, and 
died there on Novemer 9, 1S03. He studied medicine 
and natural science at Basel and Paris, and then lived to 
the end of his life in his quiet retreat at Geneva. There, 
too, in the Bibliotheque Publique his manuscripts are 
preserved; they are in the same order as Le Sage 
with his own hands arranged and left them. They 
are filed away in fifty large wooden boxes, and com- 
prise, besides a few connected discourses and loose leaves, 
little paper sacks with numbers and titles. The sacks 
contain playing-cards on which Le Sage had jotted 
down the results of his investigations. The greatest 
part of the manuscripts are devoted to his atomic theory 
of mechanical physics. The gist of his theory, the 
system of corfuscules ultramondaines, is 'oriefly as fol- 
lows : 

In limitless empty space imagine an infinite number 
of atoms, which are separated from one another by large 
intervals. These atoms move in straight lines and in all 
directions with uniform and enormous rapidity. They 
pervade all space, far beyond the limits of the visible 
universe; they come and go, as it were, from one world 
to another. Take any one point in space. At every 
moment a multitude of atoms will come to it from all 
directions and again pass away from it in all directions, 



so that for the moment every point of space may be 
regarded as the center of innumerable atoms. The 
atoms are uniform and homogeneous, hard and unelasttc 
— completely isolated material points. Their form is 
spherical. The rapidity of the aggregate atoms, more- 
over, is equal to the density of the stream formed by 
them. This is extremely slight, since the atoms are so 
small, relatively to their mean distances from one 
another, that two atoms very rarely can meet and dis- 
turb the uniformity of their motions. In comparison 
with any known rapidity, their rapidity is infinitely 
great, so that the atoms, in spite of the enormous dis- 
tances between them, form an unbroken, continuous 
stream. A body plunged in this will remain immova- 
ble, since the atoms acting with equal force on all sides 
will keep it in equilibrium. If a second body be 
placed at a certain distance from the first, the two will 
approach each other, because the one serves the other 
as a sort of shield, and the atoms whose action is no longer 
exerted on the opposing sides produce a constant motion. 

Every particle of matter in space must thus be 
taken as a central point for enormous spheres that are 
filled with atoms. Matter must be regarded as so 
porous that, for instance, the earth can only stop an insig- 
nificant portion of the atoms which penetrate it. More- 
over, no atoms can lodge upon a solid body. For, since 
most of the atoms do not strike the solid body in a per- 
pendicular, but in a slanting direction, the atom loses 
every time as much of its perpendicular velocity as it 
imparts to the body; and on account of its perfect hard- 
ness it glances off at a tangent from spherical masses. 

Of the atoms whose central point forms a solid, the 
same number penetrate all surfaces of the spheres 
described concentrically about it. These spherical sur- 
faces are proportional to the squares of the radii, there- 
fore to the squares of the distances of these surfaces from 
the mass-center. The density of the stream of atoms at 
the different distances, or the effects of the impacts with 
which the atoms strike the bodies they meet about the 
mass-center, are therefore inversely proportional to the 
squares of the distances. Furthermore, taking into con- 
sideration that all bodies are extremely porous, so much 
so, indeed, that the atoms are infinitely small in compar- 
ison with the pores, we can readily see that only an 
extremely small number of atoms will be checked; and 
of these the number that affecti the first and the last 
layers will be about the same. Their action, then, on a 
body or a sphere is proportional to its mass. 

Thus Newton's law, a priori, appears as a conse- 
quence of this system. Kepler's laws may be proved 
a necessary result of Newton's. Moreover, even the 
laws of Galileo may be deduced from it. As the atoms 
all possess infinitely great and uniform rapidities, so also 
they follow each other at exactly equal periods. By the 
impact of an atom a body receives a certain velocity in 

a definite direction ; the next atom following from the 
same direction produces the same effect as the preced- 
ing; and so, successively with all atoms following in 
the same line. The effect, being the result of an 
infinitely rapid succession of exactly equal impacts, may 
be regarded as continuous. It follows, therefore, that 
the successive velocities must be proportional to the im- 
pacts, and hence comes directly this law which Galileo 
first indirectly deduced from experiments: The dis- 
tances are to each other as the squares of the times. 
Now let us look at the connection between this theory 
of Le Sage's and Falb's theory of earthquakes. Falb 
calls the times at which earthquakes are under especially 
favorable constellations tide-factors. He distinguishes 
six such tide-factors, to wit: 

1. The greatest proximity of the earth to the sun, on 
the 1st of January. At this time the attraction of the 
sun is the greatest; while on the ist of July, the time of 
greatest remoteness, it is the least. 

2. The greatest proximity to the moon. At this 
position of the moon, which it attains once during its 
revolution of twenty-seven days, its attraction is like- 
wise the strongest. 

3. Conjunction and opposition of the moon — that is, 
the times of new and full moon. At these times moon, 
earth and sun, or more accurately their projections, form 
nearly a straight line, so that their powers of attraction 
are united; while at the time of the quadrants, i. e. at 
the time of the first and last quarters, their powers of 
attraction have a tendency to destroy each other. 

4. Eclipses of sun and moon. The three planets 
form exactly a straight line, and the attractive powers 
of the sun and moon are combined. This factor com- 
prehends the preceding. 

5. The position of the sun over the equator where- 
by its attractive power is augmented by the centrifugal 
force of the earth, revolving upon its axis. The centrif- 
ugal force at the equator is greatest ; at the poles it is zero. 

6. The position of the moon over the equator. 
The more tide-factors unite their influences, the 

greater is the probability of an earthquake occurring. 

According to Le Sage, the atoms converge toward 
the center of the earth. They become attenuated, and 
consequently a constant falling of the moon toward 
the earth takes place. This is in reality the 
case, since otherwise the moon would fly off at a 
tangent. Now, the atoms which keep impelling the 
moon toward the earth become so attenuated that the 
part of the earth lying under the moon is assailed by a 
smaller number of atoms. The consequence of this will 
be that the fluid masses on and in the earth will have a 
tendency to rise toward the moon. The molten mass 
in the interior of the earth will press with the greatest 
force against the hard crust of the earth in the direction of 
the moon. 



If the molten mass finds channels and cavities 
that have been formed by the gradual hardening of 
the earth's crust, it will rise in the former, pour into 
the latter and exert such a powerful pressure on the 
overlying layer that a concussion will be felt on the 
surface of the earth. The stronger the attractive power 
acts upon the mass, th6 more easily can it rise and find 
its way to a volcanic cavity. This attractive power, 
however, is commensurate with the attenuation of the 
atoms. If this be increased either by the moon or by 
the sun, i. e. if tide-factors 3 and 4 come into play, an 
upheaval of the earth's crust is the more probable. 
Further, since the atoms converge toward the center of 
the earth, the greater the proximity of this center to the 
moon or sun (tide-factors i and 2) the greater will 
be the attenuation of the atoms. It easily follows that 
these attenuations are inversely proportional to the 
squares of the distances of the moon and sun from the 

The strengthening influence of factors 5 and 6 is 
rather of terrestrial than of cosmical origin. 

Le Sage's theory assumes as the cause of attraction 
between sun, earth and moon, not a force of attraction, 
an actio in distans, but a pushing material, a vis a tergo. 
This theory is an hypothesis yet to be proven. Should 
it meet favor at a later day, as Falb's theory ot earth- 
quakes now does, still the last " Why " would not be 
answered. The question as to the cause of atomic 
motion and the principle of motion itself would require 
its new and probably never-to-be-given answer. 


Translated from the German by F. W. Morton. 

Under the comprehensive perspective of all the peo- 
ples of the earth, furnished by modern ethnology, one 
of the most interesting problems of history is the devel- 
opment of the family. The early idyllic conception of 
a patriarchal, though often very oppressive, community 
of life; the broader social organization of the tribe in 
the coherence of several families; and, finally, the polit- 
ical union, variously described as to particulars but al- 
ways conceived as an ideal consummation; — all these 
must go. Such a theory of political formation, based 
as it is on very limited data, cannot meet the stubborn 
facts which ethnology in ever greater measure is bring- 
ing to light. 

As so often happens, not only in life but in the his- 
tory of science, those things which were formerly de- 
rided as silly fables which should have been utterly re- 
jected — the so-called absurd reports of otherwise well- 
accredited authors — have received through the unques- 
tionable finds and discoveries of modern travelers and 
observers a surprising and often not over- welcome res- 
titutio in integrum. For the accomplishment of this 

there was also the exceedingly eflTective methodical 
means, which, however, is only to be used with care, 
by which E. Tylor has already reached so many im- 
portant conclusions — the survivals, the characteristic re- 
mains, which clearly show in the usages and customs of 
nations the complete differentiation of any one idea to- 
gether with the entire morphological structure of its 
development. As an illustrative example, taken at ran- 
dom, we may cite the well-known custom of the Ro- 
man father respecting his newly-born child ; the signifi- 
cant act of taking it up from the threshold is nothing 
more than a later, unintelligible relic of the old right of 
exposure and killing in barbaric times. 

As has been said, at the beginning of social life (for 
it is only with this and not with a completely-formed, 
separate existence of man that ethnology has to do) the 
family and marriage did not exist in our sense and our 
moral estimation; rather, there w^as a strange state of 
affairs, wholly opposed to our current notions. This 
was the original peaceful association of families, which 
is found among all peoples of the earth at the same 
primitive stages — an apparently chaotic and disunited 
horde of individuals, incapable of observing rights, and 
resting wholly on community of descent or blood unity. 
Allegiance to the band or union vi^as conditioned by the 
most natural of all bonds — descent from the same tribal 
mother. Every one lacking this qualification stood out- 
side the protecting organization, and, being a stranger, 
was eo ipso an enemy. This entire union was repre- 
sented by the central position of woman. There was 
no recognition of individual rights or duties; but each, 
without further question, was held answerable for the 
others. Thus, for instance, a murder was not always 
revenged on the murderer himself, but on some member 
of the tribe to which he belonged. Indeed, so strong 
was the thought of consanguinity that in all questions 
of inheritance the person of the man steps wholly into 
the background. 

In order to form a tolerably accurate idea of this, 
nothing is more instructive than a glance at the organi- 
zation of the Malays in respect to property, as it has 
heretofore been studied, especially by Dutch scholars. 
According to their view no real relationship exists be- 
tween the father and his children, but only between him 
and his brothers and sisters. He is not, in our sense of 
the term, the father and adviser of his offspring; he but 
belongs, after his marriage as before it, to the family 
circle in which he was born. Here is his real home; 
hither comes his inheritance; while his children, wholly 
independent of him, grow up and acquire their rights in 
the sphere of the mother, (v. Post, Grttndlagen des 
Rcckts, Oldenburg, 1SS4, Seite 92 fF.) 

According to the view hitherto accepted, the family 
formed the foundation of society, in extension from tribe 
to nation, and so forth ; and at its head, in the Aryan 



civilization, appeared the ■paterfamilias^ philologically 
explained as "protector." Now, when, with ethnological 
insight, we reach the primary foundations, the family, 
as such, falls out entirely; and X\\& femina Jinis familicc 
rises in the dim distance to grace the family as its tiiater- 
familias. We must at the outset obviate a miscon- 
ception. The question, in this period of female 
autocracy, is, of course, not so much one of woman's 
political supremacy — an impossibility for those prehis- 
toric times of rude culture — but of the organization of 
those apparently chaotic masses as they came together 
in an association of relatives. This resulted exclusively 
or, at least, largely in matriarchal principles; in that the 
tribal mother likewise represented the original source 
of the whole social organization. Consequently the en- 
tire question of inheritance (in so far as one may speak 
of its early beginnings in a communistic body) regulated 
itself according to consanguinity on the female side. 

Nevertheless, many proofs maybe found of the com- 
paratively high estimation in which woman was held in 
the most difTerent nations. Indians, Africans, Malays, 
and other tribes are zealous even exclusively to accord 
this precedence to her in many religious ceremonies; 
and Nachtigal relates of the scattered Solimans of 
North Africa that in spite of the depressing influence 
of Mohammedanism the women enjoy a certain political 
influence, (v. Lippert, Culturgeschichte^ II, 92 fF.) 

Now, as long as the children belong to the mother, 
they are subject in matters of property to the jurisdic- 
tion of one of her relatives, usually her brother, as their 
natural protector; and even though they are grown up 
they likewise belong to the mother's family. Thus, as 
Bastian remarks, it may happen that in case of war the 
child fights against his own father. This possibility, 
moreover, has a wide and, morally speaking, highly 
significant meaning, in that it brings out sharply the 
great difference between our moral perceptions and the 
corresponding views of these primordial stages. 

Further, the current view, according to the patri- 
archal foundation of the family, makes the feelings that 
prevail between parents and children, and especially be- 
tween a father and his offspring, take root in every nor- 
mally formed individual with a certainty at once irre- 
sistible and ideal. This, on the impartial witness of 
comparative ethnology, is wrong. This feeling, which 
to us seems so self-evident (^'■natura nobis insita^'' as the 
Stoic would say), is rather a comparatively late pro- 
duct of a long and, for the most part, prehistoric devel- 
opment — a development which first took its deep moral 
significance when the patriarch laid the foundation of 
the ethical view of the world by emphasizing the im- 
mediate relation of all the family members to their 
representative head. 

The ethical view to us seems the only right and 
natural one. How the transformation was brought 

about in individual instances is not yet clearly known; 
but at all events the firmer consolidation of habits after 
the adoption of a permanent residence had no inconsid- 
erable part in it. The destruction of the original family 
assemblies, consequent upon this, resulted in the district 
organization. Especially significant, moreover, was the 
purchase of the wife, who thereby lost her former sphere 
and was subjected to the authority of the husband. 

If we judge of this process strictly according to our 
moral code we cannot fail, in this disgraceful treatment 
of woman as a chattel in political intercourse, to perceive 
a shocking crudeness of feeling, and that, too, though 
we bear in mind the slow moral progress instituted by the 
patriarchal organization. For us of German education, 
and especially in our youth, this course has robbed the 
idyllic scenes of the Old Testament of their pleasure. 
Even though these subjective emotions spring from a 
comparatively broad ground, as, for instance, national 
consciousness, it is well not to treat them without fur- 
ther question as objective criticisms, as absolute moral 
principles of unconditioned and universal application 
and necessity. From the historical point of view this 
development appears as an advance in ethical progress. 
No age with its ethical ideas should be judged from the 
standpoint of the present, but should be estimated by 
its own conditions. 

Refuge trom envy's fierce pursuing. 
And limit to our self-undoing; 
Pruner of Time, that lopp'st decay 
And fruit-defeating growth away; 
Vintner, that from his purpled vine 
Crushest for heaven its sacred wine, — 
E'en when the sweetest cup were quaffing, 
When life within the heart is laughing, 
When our great peace doth seem a river 
That well might fill the full Forever, 
When the ricli day makes Hope a debtor. 
And Wish himself can wish no better. 
E'en then thy offices appear 
More worthy welcome than a tear; 
For well we know our golden hours 
Are deep indebted to thy powers; 
No light of life, nor smile benign, 
But half its luminance is thine; 
No gift from heaven our hands receive, 
But thou dost help the heavens to give. 
Thy sateless hunger feeds our bliss, 
Our sun would pale thy shade to miss. 

Men contend with one another in punching and 
kicking; but no one shows any emulation in the pursuit 
of virtue. — Diogenes. 

* Selected from Poems by David Atwood Wasson. Boston: Lee & Shep- 



A Dissertation on Theism or on the Knowaeilityof God. 

By Henry Truro Bray, M. A., LL.D., Rector of Christ 

Church, Boonville, Md. 

This pamphlet of about ninety pages contains more than its 
unpretentious appearance gives reason to expect. It is written in a 
scholarly manner, and is teeming with well-applied quotations 
from the ancient Grecians, the sacred books of the East, the early 
fathers, and from the foremost leaders of modern thought and 
science. The time and care spent in collecting these numerous 
passages must have been enormous. 

The conclusions the author arrives at remind one of the 
theism of Mr. F. E.Abbot. Mr. Bray's theism is not the belief of 
old — a dogmatical belief in a supernatural Deity. He proposes 
as follows : 

There is an Infinite Intelligence whom we call God. 
Man is by nature a religious being. 
All religions have in them a nucleus of truth. 
No religion is exclusively true, or founded upon an exclu- 
sively divine Revelation. 

From the last two pages we quote the following sentence; 

"First the egg, then the helpless young crying for succor, then 
the fledgling trying to fiy, then the full-grown bird soai'ing aloft 
in the vaulted blue — this is the history of all religious growth. It 
shows the expansion of the soul-atom from the state of uncon- 
scious heavenly tendency to the dignity of a soul flooded with 
divine light, of a heart beating with divine energy. Evolution 
proves that the Man of Nazareth must have come in due time, 
when the old religions had lost their virtue for the time and 
place, the intellect having outgrown them. It proves that the 
teaching of Christ is true, because in essential agreement with 
the teachings of all great moral and religious reformers or in- 
structors. As the old form of a religion, its shell becomes too 
narrow, then by the strivings of the intellect after higher knowl- 
edge, and the yearnings of the soul after God, there comes, ac- 
cording to the laws of Evolution, that knowledge of God which is 
needful for the time and place. Nature is not at a loss in sup- 
plying the things wanting, whether for the soul or the body. The 
principles of Evolution, when applied to the development of re- 
ligions, discover to us the fact that religion, everywhere present, 
everywhere moving the soul by similar impulses onward to the 
same common end, is a natural result of human development under 
the laws of nature.which is another name for the universally pres- 
ent and uniformly operating Deity, and, therefore. Evolution proves 
that religions in their essence must be true." 

It is a pity that the quotations from the Greek are printed in 
English letters. It makes their reading troublesome to the 
scholar, whose eye is accustomed to see Greek words in Greek 
characters, whereas it can aftbrd no help whatever to one unac- 
quainted with the language. We would advise the author, in an 
eventual future edition, to have these quotations put into Greek 
characters entirely and to affix English translations of them. It 
would greatly increase the value of the book, as it would become 
more available for the scholar as well as for the public at large. 


The American Folk-Lore Society, which has for its object 
the study of Folk-Lore in general, and in particular the collection 
and publication of the Folk- Lore of North America, was recently 
organized at Cambridge, Mass. The study of Folk-Lore received 
its first impetus at the time when Jacob Grimm first made his 
collection of German Mdrchen. The American Folk-Lore Soci- 
etv numbers among its members the most prominent scholars 

in all parts of the country. The society has made arrange- 
ments with Messrs. Houghton, MitBin & Co. to publish a quar- 
terly journal, which will no doubt be full of instructive matter. 
As both the usefulness and the success of such a society depends 
very largely on the number of its members, and the membership 
fee is only three dollars a year, it is to be hoped that all who in 
any way feel interested in the study of folk-lore will join the 
American Folk-Lore Society. Address W. W. Newell, Cam- 
bridge, Mass. 

Those of our readers interested in the subject will readilv re- 
call the delightful article entitled, " Folk-Lore Studies," by Mr. 
L. J. Vance, in Nos. 22 and 23 of The Open Court. 

The translation of Goethe's poem on page 7S2 in The Open 
Court is the revision of an unpublished version by N. F, which 
reads as follows: 

" Nature^ s secret depths" 

Philistine, sayest thou, 
" Prom mortal mind 

Must ever lie concealed? " 
To me and to my kind 
Repeat this not. We trow. 
Where'er we are, that we 

In nature's depths must be. 
" Tlirice-blcssed he to whom 

Wen her outer shell 's revealed." 
For si.xty years I've heard this o'er and o'er. 

And in my secret soul condemned it heartily, 
Say unto myself repeatedly : 

Nature gladly gives of all her store; 
She knows not kernel, knows not shell, 

For she is all in one; but thou. 
Examine thou thine own self well, 

To see whether kernel thou be'est, or shell. 

We commend the following editorial from a recent number 
of The Medical and Surgical Reporter of Philadelphia to the at- 
tention of our readers, feeling sure that it will meet with their ap- 
proval ; 


From time to time medical men and medical journals have 
protested against the prostitution of the columns of religious 
newspapers to the use of advertisers of quack nostrums. This 
protest does not apply to temperately-worded representations of 
what seems to have been accomplished by, or what may reason- 
ably be expected of, a remedy or device for the cure of disease or 
injury. But it does apply to advertisements couched in language 
which bears the stamp of falsehood on its face, or which is of such 
a character as to arouse suspicion in the mind of an intelligent 
man, uninfluenced by a money consideration. 

The editors of most religious journals are, as a rule, men of 
so much intelligence that they will hardly attribute to trade-jeal- 
ousy alone the objection which medical men have to the recom- 
mendation of " sure cures" for baldness, fits, rupture, consump- 
tion, and so on, to persons who are apt to regard their religious 
teachers as safe guides in matters of health or disease; and who 
are not sufficiently familiar with the subtleties of the newspaper 
business to distinguish between the responsibilities of the editor 
and those of the publisher. As a fact, most readers of periodicals 
have the impression that the advertisements they contain are en- 
dorsed by the editor. Advertisers rely upon this fact; and we 
cannot understand the casuistry which satisfies the conscience of 
a man who edits a periodical, ostensibly devoted to religion, which 
replenishes its coffers with the price of palpable falsehoods. 

If it were true that a religious paper could not be financially 
successful without taking money for the advertisement of worth- 


less or delusive remedies, a course might be suggested worthy of 
the main object of these papers. But it is not true; for there are 
a few happy illustrations of the fact that, even in a religious 
newspaper, ' honesty is the best policy.' 

" We call the attention of our large circle of readers to this 
matter, in the hope that they will use their influence to put an 
end to what we regard as a serious blemish in religious news- 
papers and one which injures the good reputation which they 
ought to enjoy. And we call the attention of those religious 
newspapers to which our remarks may apply to this matter, in the 
hope that we shall not have to recur to it in a more explicit manner." 



CHAPTER VII.— Concluded. 

Laura looked up astonished from the hideous dogs to 
the unexpected visitor, who came toward her with dig- 
nified steps. 

"I come to complain, young lady!" began Frau 
Hahn, without further greeting. " The insults that have 
been heaped upon my husband from this house are in- 
supportable. For your father's conduct you are not 
responsible; but I think it shocking that a young girl 
like you should also join in these outrages!" 

"What do you mean, Madame Hahn?" asked Laura, 

" I mean the affront of giving a man's name to dogs. 
You call your dogs by all my husband's names." 

" That I have never done," replied Laura. 

" Do not deny it," cried out Frau Hahn. 

" I never speak an untruth," said the maiden, proudly. 

" My husband's name is Andreas Hahn, and what 
you call this beast is heard by the whole neighborhood." 

Laura's pride was roused. " This is a misunder- 
standing, and the dog is not so called. What you say 
is unjust." 

"How is it unjust?" returned Frau Hahn. " In the 
morning the father, and in the afternoon the daughter, 
call him so." 

A heavy weight fell on Laura's heart; she felt her- 
self dragged down into an abyss of injustice and injury. 
Her father's conduct paralyzed her energies, and tears 
burst from her eyes. 

"I see that you at least feel the wrong that you are 
committing," continued Frau Hahn, more calmly. " Do 
not do it again. Believe me, it is easy to pain others, 
but it is a sorry business, and my poor husband and I 
have not deserved it of you. We have seen you grow 
up before our eyes ; and even though we have had no 
intercourse with your parents, we have always been 
pleased with you, and no one in our house has ever 
wished you ill. You do not know what a good man 
Hahn is, but still you ought not to have behaved so. 
Since we have dwelt here we have experienced many 
vexations from this house; but that you should share 
your father's views pains me most." 


Laura endeavored in vain to dry her tears. " I 
repeat to you that you do me injustice; more I cannot 
say in self-justification, nor will I. You have grieved 
me more than you know, and I am satisfied that I have 
a clear conscience." 

With these words she hastened into the house, and 
Frau Hahn returned home, uncertain as to the result of 
her visit. 

Laura paced up and down her little room wringing 
her hands. Innocent and yet guilty in spite of her good 
will, wounded to the quick, dragged into a family feud, 
the unhappy results of which could not be foreseen, she 
reviewed the events of the past day in her excited mind. 
At last she seated herself at her little writing-table, took 
out her journal, and confided her sorrows to this silent 
friend bound in violet leather. She sought comfort 
from the souls of others who had borne up nobly under 
similar griefs, and at last found the confirmation of her 
experience in the expressive, well-known passage of 
Goethe's Faust: 

"Reason doth folly, good doth evil grow; 
The child must reap the mischief that the fathers sow." 

Had she not wished to do what was reasonable and kind, 
and had not folly and evil arisen from it? and had 
not misfortune befallen her without her fault, because she 
was a child of that house? With this sentence she closed 
a passionate effusion. But in order not to appear to her 
conscience devoid of affection, the poor child wrote im- 
mediately underneath these words: "My dear, good 
father." Then she closed the book, feeling more com- 

But the severest humiliation to her was the feeling 
that she would be judged unjustly by the people over 
the way; and she folded her arms and thought how she 
could justify herself. She, indeed, could do nothing; 
but there was a worthy man who was the confidant of 
every one in the house, who had cured her canary bird 
when ill, and removed a stain from the nose of her little 
bust of Schiller. She resolved, therefore, to tell only to 
the faithful Gabriel what Frau Hahn had said, and not 
a word to her mother unless obliged to do so. 

It happened that toward evening Gabriel and Dor- 
chen entered into conversation in the street. Dorchen 
began to make bitter complaints of the spitefulness of 
the Hummels, but Gabriel earnestly advised her to this 
effect: "Do not allow yourself to be dragged into these 
disputes. There must be some neutrals. Be an angel, 
Dorchen, and bring peace and good will into the house; 
for the daughter is innocent." Whereupon the history 
of giving the name was spoken of, and Laura honorably 

Then, when Gabriel, a little later, incidentally re- 
marked to her: "This matter is settled; and Herr 
Hahn has said that it had at once appeared to him im- 
probable that you should be so ill-disposed toward him," 



— a heavy weight fell from her heart, and again her 
soft song sounded through the house. And yet she did 
not feel satisfied, for the annoyance to the neighbor- 
ing house caused by her father's anger still continued. 
Alas! she could not restrain that violent spirit, but she 
must endeavor secretly to atone for his injustice. She 
pondered over this while undressing late at night; but 
when in bed, after entertaining and rejecting many pro- 
jects, the right idea suddenly struck her ; she jumped up at 
once, lighted her candle, and ran in her night-dress to 
the writing-table. There she emptied out her purse, 
and counted over the new dollars that her father had 
given her at Christmas and on her birthday. These 
dollars she determined to spend in a secret method of 
reparation. Highly pleased, she took the precious purse 
to bed with her, laid it under her pillow, and slept peace- 
fully upon it, although the specter dogs raged round 
the house in their wild career, horribly and incessantly. 

The following morning Laura wrote in large, stifT 
characters, on an empty envelope, the name and dwell- 
ing of Herr Hahn, and affixed a seal on which was the 
impression of a violet with the inscription, " I conceal 
myself," and put it in her pocket. On her way to town 
to make some purchases she stopped at a hot-house, the 
proprietor of which was unknown to her. There she 
bought a bushy plant of dwarf orange, full of flowers 
and golden fruit — a splendid specimen of the green- 
house; she carried it with beating heart in a close 
cab, till she found a porter, to whom she gave an 
extraordinary gratuity, and bade him leave the plant 
and envelope at the house of Herr Hahn without word 
or greeting of any kind. 

The man performed the commission faithfully. 
Dorchen discovered the plant in the hall, and it caused 
an agreeable excitement in the Hahn family — fruitless 
imaginations, repeated inspection, and vain conjectures. 
When at noon Laura peeped through the vine arbor 
into the garden she had the pleasure of seeing the 
orange plant occupying a distinguished place in front of 
the white Muse. Beautifully did the white and gold of 
the shrub glitter across the street. Laura stood long 
behind the vine branches, unconsciously folding her 
hands. Her soul was unburdened of the injustice, and 
she turned from the hostile house with a feeling of 
proud satisfaction. 

Meanwhile there was a police complaint and legal 
suit pending between the two houses, which was seri- 
ously increased on that very day by the adoption of the 
dogs' names "Fighthahn" and "Spitehahn." 

Thus the peace in house and neighborhood was still 
disturbed. At first the pealing of the bells had excited 
public opinion against Herr Hahn, but this was entirely 
altered by the introduction of the dogs: the whole street 
went over to the man of straw; the man oifelt had all 
the world against him. But Herr Hummel cared little 

for this. In the evening he sat in the garden on the 
upturned boat, looking proudly at the neighboring 
house, while Fighthahn and the other dog sat at his 
feet blinking at the moon, who in her usual way looked 
down maliciously on Mr. Hummel, Mr. Hahn, and all 
the rest of the world. 

It happened on the following night that amidst the 
barking of dogs and moonshine all the bells were torn 
down from the temple of Herr Hahn and stolen. 



Our people know that all lost things lie under the 
claws of the Evil One. Whoever seeks anything must 
call out: "Devil, take thy paw away." Then it sud- 
denly appears before the eyes of men, it was so easy to 
find ; they have gone round it a hundred times; they have 
looked above and below, and have sought it in the most 
improbable places, and never thought of the nearest. 
Undoubtedly it was so with the manuscript; it lay under 
the clutches of the Evil One or of a hobgoblin, quite 
close to our friends; if they were to stretch out their 
hands they might lay hold of it; the acquisition was 
only hindered by one consideration, by the question, 
Where ? Whether this delay would involve more or less 
suffering for both the scholars was still doubtful. Never- 
theless, they might overcome even this uncertainty; 
the main point was, that the manuscript really existed 
and lay somewhere. In short, the matter stood on the 
whole as well as possible; the only thing wanting was 
the manuscript. 

"I see," said the Doctor to his friend, "that you are 
strenuously exerting yourself to educate the older people. 
I put my hopes in the souls of the younger generation. 
Hans, the eldest, is very far from sharing the views of 
the father and sister; he shows an interest in the old 
treasure, and if we ourselves should not succeed in 
making the discovery, he will at some future period not 
spare the old walls." 

In conjunction with Hans, the Doctor secretly re- 
sumed his investigations. In quiet hours, when the 
proprietor was unsuspectingly riding about his farm, 
and the Professor working in his room or sitting in the 
honeysuckle arbor, the Doctor went prying about the 
house. In the smock-frock of a laborer, which Hans 
had brought to his room, he searched the dusty corners 
of the house high and low. More than once he 
frightened the female servants of the household by sud- 
denly emerging from behind some old bin in the cellar, 
or by appearing astride of one of the rafters of the roof. 
In the dairy a hole had been dug for the forming of an 
ice-pit; the laborers had gone away at noon, and the 
mademoiselle passed close to the uncovered pit, sus- 
pecting nothing. There she beheld, suddenly, a head 
without a body, with fiery eyes and bristly hair, which 




was slowly groping along the ground and turned its 
face to her with a mocking laugh. She uttered a shrill 
cry and rushed into the kitchen, where she sank fainting 
on a stool and was only revived by the sprinkling of 
water and encouraging words. At dinner she was so 
much troubled that every one was struck by it, and at 
last it appeared that the devilish head was to be found 
on the shoulders of her neighbor, who had secretly de- 
scended into the hole in order to examine the masonry. 

On this occasion the Doctor discovered, with some 
degree of malicious pleasure, that the hospitable roof 
which protected him and the manuscript from rain stood 
over an acknowledged haunted house. There were 
strange creakings in the old building; spirits were 
frequently seen, and the accounts only differed as to 
whether there was a man in a gray cowl, a child in a 
white shirt, or a cat as large as an ass. Every one knew 
that there was in all parts a knocking, rattling, thunder- 
ing, and invisible throwing of stones. Sometimes all 
the authority of the proprietor and his daughter was 
necessary to prevent the outbreak of a panic among the 
servants. Even our friends, in the quiet of the night, 
heard unaccountable sounds, groans, thundering noises 
and startling knocks on the wall. These annoyances of 
the house the Doctor explained to the satisfaction of the 
proprietor by his theory of the old walls. He made it 
clear that many generations of weasels, rats and mice 
had bored through the solid walls and laid out a system 
of covered passages and strongholds. Therefore every 
social amusement and every quarrel which took place 
among the inmates of the wall were made percept- 
ible in muffled noises. But the Doctor listened with 
quiet vexation to the secret noises of his wall-neighbors; 
for if these blustered around the manuscript so excitedly, 
they threatened to render difficult the future investiga- 
tion of science. Whenever he heard a violent gnawing 
he could not help thinking they were again eating away 
a line of the manuscript, which would make a multitude 
of conjectures necessary; and it was not by gnawing 
alone that this colony of mice would disfigure the manu- 
script that lay underneath them. 

But the Doctor was compensated by other discov- 
eries for the great patience which was necessary under 
these circumstances. He did not confine himself to the 
house and adjoining buildings; he searched the neigh- 
borhood for old popular traditions which here and there 
lingered in the spinning-room and worked in the shaky 
heads of old beldames. Through the wife of one of the 
farm-laborers, he secretly made the acquaintance of an 
old crone well versed in legendary lore in the neighbor- 
ing village. After the old woman had recovered from 
her first alarm at the title of the Doctor and the fear 
that he had come to rebuke her on account of incompe- 
tent medical practice, she sang to him, with trembling 
voice, the love songs of her youth, and related to him 

more than the hearer could note down. Every evening 
the Doctor brought home sheets of paper full of writ- 
ing and soon found in his collection all the well-known 
characters of our popular legends — wild hunters, devil- 
ish hags, three white maidens, many monks, some 
shadowy water pixies, sprites who appeared in the story 
as artisan lads, but undeniably sprang from a merman; 
and finally many small dwarfs. Sometimes Hans accom- 
panied him on these excursions to the country people, in 
order to prevent these visits from becoming known to 
the father and daughter. Now, it is certainly possible 
that here and there a hole in the earth or a well in the 
field might be provided with spirits without any founda- 
tion; for, as the wise women of the village observed 
how much the Doctor rejoiced in such communications, 
the old inventive povsrer of the people awoke from a 
long slumber; but, on the whole, both parties treated 
each other with German truth and conscientiousness; 
and, besides, the Doctor was not a man who could easily 
be taken in. 

Once when he was returning to the castle from such 
visits he met the laborer's wife on a lonely foot-path. 
She looked cautiously about and at last acknowledged 
that she could impart something to him if he would not 
betray her to the proprietor. The Doctor promised in- 
violable secrecy. Upon this the woman stated that in 
the cellar of the castle, on the eastern side, in the right- 
hand corner, there was a stone, marked with three 
crosses; behind that lay the treasure. She had heard 
this from her grandfather, who had it from his father, 
who had been a servant in the castle; and at that time 
the then Crown Inspector had wished to raise the treas- 
ure, but when they went into the cellar for that purpose, 
there had been such a fearful crash and such a noise that 
they ran away in terror. But that the treasure was 
there was certain, for she had herself touched the stone, 
and the signs were distinctly engraved on it. The cel- 
lar was now used for wine, and the stone was hidden 
by a wooden trestle. 

The Doctor received this communication with com- 
posure, but determined to set about investigating by 
himself. He did not say a word either to the Professor 
or to his friend Hans, but watched for an opportunity. 
His informant sometimes herself carried the wine which 
was always placed before the guests, to the cellar and 
back. The next morning he followed her boldly ; the 
woman did not say a word as he entered the cellar be- 
hind her, but pointed shyly to a corner in the wall. 
The Doctor seized the lamp, shoved half a dozen flasks 
from their places and groped about for the stone; it was a 
large hewn stone with three crosses. He looked signifi- 
cantly at the woman — she afterward related in the 
strictest confidence that the glass shields before his eyes 
shone at this moment so fearfully in the light of the 
lamp, that she had become quite terrified — then he went 



silently up again, determined to take advantage of this 
discovery on the first opportunity in dealing with the 

But a still greater surprise awaited the Doctor; his 
quiet labor was supported by the deceased Brother Tobias 
himself. The friends descended one day to Rossau, 
accompanied by the proprietor, who had business in the 
town He conducted his guests to the Burgomaster, 
whom he requested to lay before the gentlemen, as trust- 
worthy men, whatever old writings were in the posses- 
sion of the authorities. The Burgomaster, who was a 
respectable tanner, put on his coat and took the learned 
men to the old monastery. There was not much to be 
seen; only the outer walls of the old building remained; 
the minor officials of the crown dwelt in the new parts. 
Concerning the archives of the council the Burgomaster 
suggested the probability that there would not be much 
found in them ; in this matter he recommended the gen- 
tlemen to the town clerk, and himself went to the club 
in order, after his onerous duties, to enjoy a quiet little 
game of cards. 

The town clerk bowed respectfully to his literary col- 
leagues, laid hold of a rusty bunch of keys, and opened 
the small vault of the city hall, where the ancient 
records, covered with thick dust, awaited the time in 
which their quiet life was to be ended under the stamp- 
ing machine of a paper mill. The town clerk had some 
knowledge of the papers; he understood fully the 
importance of the communication which was expected 
from him, but assured them with perfect truth that, 
owing to two fires in the town and the disorders of 
former times, every old history had been lost. There 
were also no records to be found in any private house; 
only in the printed chronicles of a neighboring town 
some notices were preserved concerning the fate of 
Rossau in the Thirty Years' War. After that, the place 
had been a heap of ruins and almost uninhabited. The 
town had since continued without a history, and the 
town clerk assured them that nothing was known here 
of the olden time, and no one cared about it. Perhaps 
something about the town might be learnt at the 

Our friends continued to walk unweariedly from 
one clever man to another, making inquiries, as in the 
fairy tale, after the bird with the golden feather. Two 
little gnomes had known nothing, but now there re- 
mained a third — so they went to the Roman Catholic 
priest. A little old gentleman received them with pro- 
found bows. The Professor explained to him that he was 
seeking information concerning the ultimate fate of the 
monastery — above all, what had happened in his closing 
years to the last monk, the venerable Tobias Bach- 

" In those days no register of deaths was required," 
replied the ecclesiastic. " Therefore, my dear sirs, 

I cannot promise to give you any information. Yet, if it 
is only a question of yourselves, and you do not wish 
to extract anything from the old writings disadvanta- 
geous to the Church, I will show you to the oldest 
of the existing books." He went into a room and 
brought out a long thin book, the edges of which 
had been injured by the mold of the damp room. " Here 
are some notices of my predecessors who rest with the J 

Lord; perhaps they may be useful to the gentlemen. 
More I cannot do, because there is nothing else of the 
kind existing." 

On the introductory page there was a register of the 
ecclesiastical dignitaries of the place in Latin. One of 
the first notices was: " In the year of our Lord 1637, 
and in the month of May, the much venerated brother 
Tobias Bachhuber, the last monk of this monastery, 
died of the plague. The Lord be merciful to him." 

The Professor showed the passage silently to his 
friend the Doctor, who wrote down the Latin words; 
they then returned the book with thanks and took leave. 

"The manuscript still lies in the house," said the 
Professor, as they went along the street. The Doctor 
thought of the three crosses and laughed quietly to him- 
self; he had in no way assented to the tactics which his 
friend thought fit to adopt for the discovery of the man- 
uscript. When the Professor maintained that their only 
hope rested on the sympathy which they might by de- 
grees awaken in their host, the Doctor entertained the 
suspicion that his friend was brought to this slow way 
of carrying on the war not by pure zeal for the man- 

The proprietor, however, maintained an obstinate 
silence concerning the manuscript. If the Doctor threw 
out any hint upon the subject, the host made a wry 
grimace and immediately changed the conversation. It 
was necessary to put an end to this. The Doctor now 
determined to insist upon a decision before his de- 
parture. When, therefore, they were sitting together 
in the garden in the evening, and the proprietor was 
looking cheerfully and calmly on his fruit trees, the 
Doctor began the attack : 

" I cannot leave this place, my hospitable friend, 
without reminding you of our contract." 

" Of what contract?" inquired their host, like one 
who did not remember it. 

" Regarding the manuscript," continued the Doctor, 
with emphasis, " which lies concealed in this place." 

"Indeed! why you yourself said that every place 
sounds hollow. So we would have to tear down the 
house from roof to cellar. I should think we might 
wait till next spring, when you come to us again; for we 
would be obliged, under these circumstances, to live in 
the barns, which now are full." 

" The house may, for the present, remain standing," 
said the Doctor; " but if you still think that the monks 


took away their monastic property, there is one circum- 
stance which goes against your view. We have dis- 
covered at Rossau that the worthy friar, who had con- 
cealed the things here in April, died of the pestilence as 
early as May, according to the church i-egister; here is 
a 'copy of the entry.' " 

The proprietor looked at the Doctor's memorandum 
book, closed it and said : " Then his brother monks 
have taken away the property." 

" That is scarcely possible," replied the Doctor, "for 
he was the last of his order in the monastery." 

" Then some of the city people have taken it." 

" But the inhabitants of the town abandoned it then, 
and the place lay for years desolate, in ruins and unin- 
habited." • 

" Humph!" began the proprietor, in good humor; 
" the learned gentlemen are strict creditors and know 
how to insist upon their rights. Tell me straightfor- 
wardly what you want of me. You must, first of all, 
point out to me some place which appears suspicious, 
not only to you, but also to the judgment of others; 
and that you cannot do with any certainty." 

" I know of such a place," answered the Doctor, 
boldly, " and I wish to suggest to you that the treasure 
lies there." 

The Professor and the proprietor looked on him 
with astonishment. 

" Follow me into the cellar," cried the Doctor. 

A candle was lighted; the Doctor led the way to 
the place vvhere the wine lay. 

"What gives you such victorious confidence?" 
inquired the Professor, on the way, in a low voice. 

" I suspect that you have your secrets," replied the 
Doctor; "permit me to have mine." 

He actively removed the bottles from the corner, 
threw the light on the stone, and knocked on the wall 
with a large key. 

" The place is hollow and the stone has a peculiar 

" It is true," said the proprietor ; " there is an empty 
space behind it; it is certainly not small. But the stone 
is one of the foundation stones of the house, and has not 
the appearance of ever having been removed from its 

"After so long a time, it would be difficult to deter- 
mine that," rejoined the Doctor. 

The proprietor examined the wall himself. 

" A large slab lies over it. It would, perhaps, be possi- 
ble to raise the marked stone from its place." He consid- 
ered for a moment, and then continued : " I see I must 
let you have your own way. I will thus make com- 
pensation for the first hour of our acquaintance, which 
has always lain heavy on my conscience. As we three 
are here in the cellar like conspirators, we will enter 
into an agreement. I will at once do what I consider 

to be very useless. In return, whenever you speak or 
write upon the subject, you must not refuse to bear tes- 
timony that I have given in to every reasonable wish." 

" We shall see what can be done," replied the Doc- 

" Very well. In the stone quarry at the extremity 
of my property I have some extra hands at work; they 
shall remove the stone and then restore it to its place. 
Thus, I hope, the affair will be forever settled. Use, 
early in the morning let the shelving be removed from 
the wine-cellar." 

The following day the stonemasons came, and the 
three gentlemen and Use descended into the cellar, and 
looked on curiously while the men exerted their power 
with pickaxe and crowbar on the square stone. It was 
placed upon the rock, and great exertions were neces- 
sary to loosen it. But the people themselves declared 
that there was a great cavity behind, and worked with 
a zeal that was increased by the repute of the haunted 
house. At last the stone was moved and a dark open- 
ing became visible. The spectators approached — both 
the scholars in anxious suspense; their host and his 
daughter also full of expectation. One of the stonemasons 
hastily seized the light and held it before the opening. 
A slight vapor came out; the man drew back alarmed. 

" Within there lies something white," he cried, full 
of fear and hope. 

Use looked at the Professor, who with difficulty con- 
trolled the excitement that worked in his face. He 
grasped the light, but she kept it from him, and cried 
out, anxiously, " Not you." She hastened to the open- 
ing and thrust her hand into the hollow space. She 
laid hold of something tangible. A rattling was heard; 
she quickly withdrew her hand; but, terrified, threw 
what she had laid hold of on the ground. It was a bone. 

(To be continued.) 

Fortune does not change men: it unmasks them. — 
Mme. Necker. 

Poets are like birds: the least thing makes them 
sing. — Chateaubriand. 

The pleasantest things in the world are pleasant 
thoughts, and the great art in life is to have as many of 
them as possible. — Bovee, 

You may deceive all of the people some of the time, 
and some of the people all the time, but not all the 
people all the time. — Abraham Lincoln. 

It is better to advise than to reproach; for the one is 
mild and friendly, the other stern and severe ; the one 
corrects the erring, the other only convicts them. 
— Epictetus. 

If we see rightly and mean rightly, we shall get on, 
though the hand may stagger a little; but if we mean 
wrongly, or mean nothing, it does not matter how firm 
the hand is. — Ruskin. 



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Contents of No. 28. 

C.J. ERRANT, 24 Beethov 

Chicago, III. 

APHORISMS, Henry Byron 799 

NATIONAL TAXATION, Anti- Monopolist 800 



Stoss 804 


FAMILY, AcHELis 806 

POETRY.— To Death Wasson 807 


NOTES 808 

FICTION.— The Lost Manuscript (continued) 809> 

The Open Court 

A \?veek:ly journal 

Devoted to the Work of Conciliating Religion with Science. 

No. 29. (Vol. II.— 3.) 

CHICAGO, MARCH 15, 1888. 

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" Men there are whose patient minds, 

In one object centered. 
Wait till through their darkened blinds 

Truth has burst and entered. 

Men there are whose ambient souls, 

In rapt Intuition, 
Seize Creation as it rolls, 

Whole, without partition." — y. C. Maxwell. 

The merits of Goethe as a man of science, and more 
especially his relation to the evolutionary theories of our 
day, are subjects that have lately been attracting, in Ger- 
many at least, a considerable amount of attention. Vir- 
chow, Haeckel, Helmholtz and Du Bois-Reymond, not 
to mention names of less repute, have all contributed to 
the discussion, and, their writings having called forth 
more or less opposition, quite a body of literature has 
grow^n up about the question w^hether Goethe, who was 
so many other things, was or was not an evolutionist in 
the modern sense of the term. 

The disagreement of very competent authorities upon 
this subject might appear surprising were not the disa- 
greement of doctors on almost every conceivable subject 
such a very familiar fact of human experience. Many 
years ago Helmholtz stated his conception of the matter 
thus : 

" To Goethe belongs the great glory of having first 
foreseen the leading ideas toward which the sciences of 
organic nature were tending and by which the subse- 
quent development of those sciences has been deter- 

Haeckel, in an address before the fifty-fifth Congress 
of German Naturalists and Physicians, rates the scien- 
tific merits of Goethe very high, declaring that he can 
see " no essential difference" between Goethe's philos- 
opjiy of Nature and "our modern monistic philosophy 
as re-established by Darwin."f On the other hand Du 
Bois-Reymond, in a now famous address delivered upon 
assuming the rectorate of the University of Berlin in 
18S3, takes the ground that Goethe's mental endowment 
was, for a man of science, fatally defective in one import- 
ant particular, namely, the sense for mechanical causality ; 

"Fopulxrt Wissenscliaftliche Vortrxge Erstes Heft, Braunschweig, 1876, 
p. 37. The quotation is from a lecture delivered in 1S53. 

\Die Naturanschauung von Darwin^ Goetht vnd Lamarck, Jena, iSSa, 
P- 32. 

that his views were essentially different from the Dar- 
winism of to-day; that what he did and thought in a 
would-be scientific way was at best of little moment 
and would not be missed if it were obliterated from the 
history of scientific thought. In short, Du Bois-Rey- 
mond would have the world remember that the poet 
Goethe was a man of science in precisely the same spirit 
as it remembers that King Frederick the Great was a 

It is not my purpose to enter upon the discussion of 
this subject in a controversial spirit, or to urge opinions 
of my own with regard to the value of Goethe's scien- 
tific ideas. What I shall try to do is rather to make 
clear, historically and from the documents, what the ideas 
in question really were, so far as they are related directly 
or indirectly to the development hypothesis. It might 
seem perhaps as if a mere exposition of any views of 
Goethe must be at this date superfluous, but I hardly 
think that such is really the case. Personally I incline 
to the opinion that the general position of Du Bois- 
Reymond as outlined above is not altogether unsound, 
and I seem to discern among the admirers of Goethe a 
tendency to overestimate the importance of their hero in 
the history of science. But, on the other hand, I can- 
not doubt that the opposite error of rating him too low 
is still more common. Especially, as I judge, do inade- 
quate conceptions prevail with regard to the real range 
and character of his evolutionary speculations. And 
these conceptions conduce not simply to an imperfect, but 
to a really wrong, understanding of the man. 

For Goethe's scientific thinking cannot be regarded 
as something apart from and independent of the re- 
mainder of his intellectual existence. His mind was not 
one of air-tight compartments, but one in which each 
new range of ideas speedily interfused with and formed 
one whole with all the rest. We may, perhaps, make 
a partial exception to this remark in case of the Farben- 
lehre. Though he himself attached such supreme 
importance to his " Theory of Colors," yet it is, as a 
matter of fact, possible to think all that away from his 
life and still have Goethe left. But this is not the case 
with his views upon the general subject of development, 
which are intimately bound up with all that is most 
characteristic of the man. For any philosophical pur- 
poses it is impossible to separate the poet from the scien- 

*Goethe und Kein Ende, Leipzig, iSSl. 



tific thinker, and to extol the one while disparaging or 
ignoring the other. It is possible, of course, to main- 
tain that the poet Goethe would not have suffered in 
the least it he had never meddled with the "dead work" 
of research. But even this proposition appears to me 
debatable in spite of his well-known ineptitude* for dead 
work; even if admitted it would mean simply that his 
ideas are more interesting than his arguments. Such 
people there are and always have been in the world, and 
it will not do to treat them with disrespect because of 
this peculiar characteristic. In fact the class is strongly 
represented among the intellectual patricians of the 
human race. 

Goethe's pursuit of scientific studies began with 
mineralogy ; for we may leave out of the account his 
slender acquirements at the university and his later 
dabbling in physiognomic speculations under the aus- 
pices of Lavater. It was in 1776 that he first took his 
seat as a member of the Ducal Council in Weimar and 
almost the first official responsibility committed to his 
charge was the superintendence of certain mining oper- 
ations in Ilmenau. The interests involved were not 
large, but they were important enough to the mind of 
Goethe so that, with the conscientiousness which was a 
part of his nature, he at once set vigorously about the 
study of mineralogy, which, however, soon came to in- 
terest him chiefly through its bearing on the broad 
questions of geological theory. We learn from his jour- 
nal and correspondence how eagerly he applied himself 
to this new pursuit. He Visits all the nooks and crannies 
of the little State in order to study their geological 
features. f He commences a collection of minerals and 
endeavors to communicate his new enthusiasm to his 
friends. Wherever he goes we find him knocking at 
the rocks and returning laden with treasures. " I am 
now living body and soul in rock and mountain," he 
writes Sept. 8, 1780, "and am delighted with the broad 
prospects that are opening before me."J By 1782, as we 
learn from a letter to Merck, he begins to feel something 
of self-assurance with regard to his knowledge of geol- 
ogy. Shortly after this botany and comparative anatomy 
begin to claim a portion of his attention, but his interest 
in the former study continues unabated. In 1784 he 
makes a journey to the Harz mountains and keeps 
what he calls a "geognostic diary"§ of his travels. He 
prints nothing, however, until 1807, after which we have 
from his pen a considerable number of short contribu- 
tions to geological literature. These contributions are 

♦Goethe did not deceive himself on this subject. Under date of July 20, 
17S7, he writes from Rome of his two " capital faults." Einer ist dass ich nie 

das Handwerk einer Sache die ich treiben woUte, lernen mochte Der 

andere, nah verwandte Fehler, ist dass ich nie so viel Zeit auf eine Arbeit oder 
Geschaft wenden mochte, als dazu er fordert wird.— Goethe's Werke, XXXV., 
366, Hempel edition. 

tLetter to Merck, Oct. n, 17S0. 

^Letter to Frau von Stein. 

§First published in 1877 in Part XXXIII. of the Ilempel Edition of Goethe's 
Woris, p. +3S ff. 

of different kinds; some are mere notes, others are book- 
reviews and still others are descriptions of the geological 
features of the Karlsbad region and other localities which 
he had especially studied. The only interest they have 
lies in the incidental deliverances they contain with 
regard to geological theory. 

Right at the beginning of his studies Goethe had ac- 
cepted the doctrine of Werner that granite is the found- 
ation of the earth and that other formations are always 
of later origin, having been superimposed upon the 
granite in the form of deposits from a primeval ocean 
or a chaotic menstruum. This theory he soon came to 
look on as impregnable, and thus granite acquired for 
him a quite peculiar sentimental interest. In letters of 
the period he refers to himself as a "friend of granite" 
and a fixed belief in the primordial character of that 
rock established itself as an underlying assumption in 
all his speculations concerning the sculpturing of moun- 
tain-masses. There is a curious fragment of his, written 
probably in 17S4, but only in recent years made public* 
— a bit of a prose ode to granite: 

"Sitting on a high and naked peak," so runs a portion of the 
piece, "and gazing over a wide expanse, I can say to myself: 
Here thou reposest immediately upon a foundation which reaches 
down to the deepest places of the earth. No recent layer, no 
heaps of debris washed together by the water, have ever deposited 
themselves between thee and the firm ground-floor of the prime- 
val world. Here thou dost not, as in those beautiful and fruitful 
valleys, walk over a continual grave ; these peaks have never be- 
gotten and never swallowed up any living thing; they are before 
all life and above all life." 

With such ideas in his head as the basis of all geo- 
logical wisdom, Goethe naturally sided with the Nep- 
tunists when the great controversy of the last century 
broke out. The evidence seemed to him conclusive 
that Nature's process in the shaping of the hills had 
been a quiet and leisurely process. To this conviction 
he clung tenaciously through life and finally gave it em- 
phatic expression in the second part of Faust: 

"Als die Natur sich in sich selbst gegriindet. 
Da hat sie rein den Erdball abgeriindet, 
Der Gipfel sich, der Schluchten sich erfreut, 
Und Fels an Fels und Berg an Berg gereiht; 
Die Hiigel dann bequem hinabgebildet, 
Mit sanftem Zug sie in das Thai gemildet. 
Da griint's und wachst's, und um sich zu erfreuen, 
Bedarf sie nicht der toUen Strudeleien."f 

Goethe was fond of working to its utmost capacity 
the thought that had once taken possession of him, and 
so it suited his bent to expand this geological doctrine 

* Werke XXXIII., p. 92 £f. 

t WerkeyAll., 177. In Bay.ard Taylor's translation: 
"When nature in herself her being founded, 

Complete and perfect then the globe she rounded, 

Glad of the summits and the g-orges deep 

Set rock to rock, and mountain steep to steep, 

The hills with easy outlines downward moulded 

Till gently from their feet the vales unfolded. 

They green and grow; with joy therein she ranges. 

Requiring no insane, convulsive changes." 



into the comprehensive idea that Nature's characteristic 
modus operandi is always quiet and leisurely — a method 
of gradual transformation without breaks and without 
barriers. This idea, fortified doubtless by the study of 
Spinoza, then became one of the ruling conceptions of 
his life; it furnished him with a starting-point for sci- 
entific study, with a rule of conduct and a maxim for 
judging the actions of men. What application he made 
of it in the realm of plant and animal morphology will 
presently appear. He wrote Meister to exhibit the 
gradual transformation of a human character under the 
attritions of experience. He hated the Revolution be- 
cause it was a sudden and violent upheaval. In short, 
reverence for the method ohne Hast aber ohne Rast be- 
came the key-note of his character. 

Like the rest of the Neptunists, Goethe, of course, 
could but be aware that volcanoes and earthquakes are 
facts in Nature; he contended, however, that such agen- 
cies must always have been what they appear to be at 
any particular epoch, namely, something sporadic and 
exceptional. His conception, curious as it appears when 
stated, seems to have been that violent commotions were 
not a part of Nature's process, but rather interruptions 
of it. In 178S Werner claimed an igneous origin for 
basalt, and Goethe regarded the case as made out. Some 
of the Xenia are at the expense of the Vulcanists, whose 
cause he regarded as lost beyond the possibility of re- 
trieval. It was therefore a source of infinite mental dis- 
turbance to him when, in the early part of this century, 
catastrophic theories, more or less similar to those advo- 
cated by Hutton, began to win influential friends. The 
new views, as accepted by Von Buch and Von Hum- 
boldt in Germany and by De Beaumont in France, ran 
counter to his inveterate prejudice. It was like telling 
him that mother Nature was after all unsteady and sub- 
ject to freaks. The matter interested him very deeply; 
it is often referred to in his letters and prose writings, 
and is woven into the fabric of the second part of 
Faust* In Faust each side of the controversy is pre- 
sented by its appropriate champion, but the Vulcanist 
doctrine is given by the poet a slight tinge of burlesque 
and persiflage, whereas that of the Neptunists is obvi- 
ously intended to be taken au grand serieux. The col- 
loquies in Faust are serene enough, but the poet could 
not always maintain his serenity when dealing with this 
subject. In an oft-quoted passage, written not long be- 
fore his death, he exclaims: 

Be the case as it may, it must be written that I denounce this 
accursed racket and lumber-garret of the new order of creation 
(i. e., the noisy argument of those who would make of Nature's 
orderly work an unregulated rubbish-chamber). Surely some 
young man of genius will arise who will have the courage to op- 
pose this crazy unanimity .■!■ 

* The passages occur in the Classical Walpurgis Night Scene and at the 
beginning of Act IV. Werke XUI., 103 £f and 176 ff. 
t Werke XXXIU., p. 466. 

This bold and confident prediction from an octoge- 
narian poet is rather striking as a token of the man's 
character, but it becomes still more striking when we 
recall that at the very time when these words were 
being penned by the irritated Altmeister, the "young 
man of genius" was at his work. Sir Charles Lyell's 
famous book, which ushered in the modern era of "bit 
by' bit" geology, appeared first in 1S30. 

The great controversy of a hundred years ago has 
now only an historical interest; there are to-day, so far 
as I am aware, neither Neptunists nor Plutonists. The 
modern discovery of the conservation of energy, the 
general acceptance of the nebular hypothesis and the 
resultant conceptions with regard to the life of the earth 
have made much of the older speculation untenable. 
The ideas of Goethe were very different from those of 
to-day. But while this is true, it is interesting to note 
how much nearer he stood than even the greatest of his 
contemporaries to the conceptions of the present time. 
He had started from a false theory and much of his 
reasoning was in its detail wrong, but so excellent were 
his powers of observation and interpretation, and so 
perfect was his intellectual balance, that he was able to 
reach conclusions which were in the main sound, and to 
anticipate, as Helmholtz says, the leading ideas of the 
coming era. 

But was not this anticipation largely fortuitous? 
Was it not a coincidence which was thus and might 
have been otherwise ? That it was not so, but rather 
an honest triumph of the scientific imagination, appears 
probable when we pass from the general to the particu- 
lar and consider, for example, his prevision of the coming 
importance of paleontology and his theory of a glacial 
epoch. " The growing importance of the history of 
organic remains," writes Sir Charles Lyell, "may be 
pointed to as the characteristic feature of the science (of 
geology) during the present century." In view of this 
fact particular interest attaches to a letter of Goethe to 
Merck, written October 27, 1782. In this letter the 
writer sets forth his theory as to how the bones found 
in the alluvial plains of Germany came to be there, and 
argues that they belong to a recent epoch which is, 
however,. in comparison with our ordinary computation 
of time, "prodigiously remote." He then adds this 
sentence : " The time -will come •when people ivill no 
longer jutnble together organic remains, but will ar- 
range them with reference to the world's epochsP 

This may seem a small matter, hardly worth the 
emphasis of italics. And so it is from one point of 
view ; Goethe did not follow up the idea himself, and 
nothing came of it so far as he was concerned. But it 
is somewhat remarkable that at this date such a thought 
should have been in his mind at all, since it does not 
seem to have been in any one else's. Cuvier and Wil- 
liam Smith were boys of thirteen, and the older geolo- 


gists, regarding their science as the handmaid of biblical 
orthodoxy, were content to see in fossil remains at once 
the work and the evidence of the Noachian deluge. 
Back of the flood they did not care to go. So that 
Goethe's isolated idea begins to appear like a mental 
achievement of some dignity — an appearance which be- 
comes more marked when we recall what nonsense a 
man of genius like Voltaire could still think and write 
on the subject of organic remains.* 

Goethe's relations to the glacier theory may be 
briefly described. He early speculated more or less 
upon the erratic boulders of Germany, and in time 
seems to have accepted the theory of his friend Voigt 
that they had been floated in from the North upon ice- 
bergs in the days of the primeval ocean. Toward the 
close of his life, however, we find him in possession of 
another theory, to the effect that anciently, at a time 
when North Central Europe was covered with water 
to a depth of — say a thousand feet, an epoch of great cold 
[grosser Kdlte) had set in and that the phenomena of 
glacial action had then manifested themselves on a large 
scale in Germany. This idea is first recorded in Wil- 
helm Aleister's Wafiderjahre, in a passage which is 
known to have reached its present shape in iSag.-j- It 
is also formulated in an essay entitled "Geological 
Problems and their Solutions," first printed in 1833. J 
Thus we see that Goethe was dreaming of primeval ice 
fields at least a decade before Agassiz, attracted by the 
work of Charpentier, built his lone hut on the Aar gla- 
cier and commenced the series of investigations which 
resulted in opening up so many a new vista in modern 
geology. Both Charpentier and Agassiz acknowledged 
the priority of Goethe in this line of speculation. 

{To be concluded.) 



Part II. 


The innate character-traits of individuals are biased 
by the sum of ancestral experience, and the same factor 
determines the moral characteristics of nations. " Blood 
will tell" in tribes and races as well as in families. A 
predisposition to deeds of violence has more than once 
been traced to a long lineage of moral outlaws. There 
have been dynasties of headstrong, lion-hearted rulers 
and dynasties of fox-kings. A penchant for mysticism, 

♦In one of his essays Voltaire attempts to revive a hypothesis of the six- 
teenth century to the effect that the marine shells found in inland Europe were 
"sports of nature." He also thought, or pretended to think, that the plant im- 
pressions found upon rocks were not made by genuine plants — pierres JiffUr&es 
was his name for the phenomenon. Elsewhere he remarks that the bones of a 
reindeer and a hippopotamus found nearEtempes did not prove, as some would 
have it, that Lapland and the Nile were once on a tour from Paris to Orleans, 
but merely that a lover of curiosities had preserved them in his cabinet. — Quoted 
by Lyell, Principles, Amer. Ed. of 1853, p. 55. 

t Werke XVIII., p. 163 ff. 

X Werke XXXIII., p. 464. 

§ Copyrighted. 

for bigotry, and even for suicide, has often tainted a long 
series of generations; and it is no accident that at certain 
periods of the world's history we find whole groups of 
nations launching their destiny on the stream of intel- 
lectual freedom, while others remain anchored to the 
shoals of dogmatic conservatism. A fertile soil may 
stimulate the industry of one race and encourage the in- 
dolence of another. There are incurably servile nations 
and nations whose love of independence will assert itself 
in spite of all obstacles. 

Race-experience is the key to the secret of such con- 
trasts. The bears of our Western Territories were more 
than a match for the bow-armed Indian, and still attack 
every intruder of their hunting-grounds with a reckless- 
ness that will lead to their ultimate extinction; and the 
same hardihood of aggressive valor has often character- 
ized the politics of special, numerically perhaps inferior, 
nations, whose forefathers had acquired the habit of 
cutting every knot with the edge of the sword. The 
Asiatic ancestors of the Turks, for instance, had for ages 
been able to hold their own against every aggressor of 
their highland pastures, and their descendants are still 
strangely prone to right every wrong by summary 
methods of physical force. They loathe the shifts of 
diplomacy which the logic of circumstances urges upon 
their statesmen ; their pride aggravates the penalties of 
defeat; they refuse to conciliate their rebellious subjects 
by prudent concessions; yet, withal, they have the vir- 
tues of their faults. Like the Turkoman chieftain who 
would bully all neighboring princes, but scorn to count 
the pennies of their tribute, the modern pasha, with all his 
jealousy of prestige, detests the details of red tape, and 
in times of need is ever ready to maintain his honor at 
the expense df his purse. 

His moral antipode is the descendant of a race 
which in its mother's milk has imbibed the lessons of 
adversity and learned to deprecate the truculence of the 
victor by ready submission. Cunning and duplicity are 
the defences of the weak and may become hereditary 
character-traits as hard to eradicate as a penchant for 
violent self-help. The East-Indian ancestors of our 
Gypsies were harassed by the insolence of superior 
races till they learned to obviate trouble by avoid- 
ing the neighborhood of their oppressors and roaming 
the by-ways of the wilderness. They became vagrants, 
and remain vagrants even in countries where homesteads 
might be had for the asking. Moreover, an instinctive, 
rather than clearly conscious, desire to "cover their tracks" 
makes them apt to misrepresent their intended march- 
route and otherwise prevaricate without apparent cause, 
or even where candor would seem to serve their purpose 
much better. The hereditary influence of slavery ap- 
pears to transmit similar character-traits, and the most 
phenomenal case of innate duplicity in my experience 
was that of a twelve-year old negro boy, doing chores 



for a Texas lawyer of my acquaintance. " I can pro- 
fessionally appreciate a first-class fib," said his master, 
"but that young colleague seems to labor under the im- 
pression that prevarication is its own reward. A suc- 
cessful fiction stimulates him like a moral triumph, even 
if it costs him a dozen collateral fictions. He tells the 
truth only as a last desperate expedient." 

Subjected nations of a more intellectual type are apt 
to resent oppression by commercial sharp-practice. The 
dwarfs of Norse mythology avenge their wrongs by 
outwitting their burly despoilers, and the triumphs of 
mercantile strategy formed the moral, as well as mate- 
rial, support of the trafficking Greeks under the sway of 
Moslem despotism, as of the trafficking Hebrews under 
the yoke of mediasval fanaticism, and thus laid the foun- 
dation of a race tendency which centuries of freedom 
may fail to eliminate. 

There is a curious analogy in the moral phenomena 
of individual and national decrepitude. Young men of 
a normal constitution are natural optimists. A feeling of 
exuberant vitality inspires them with an almost misfor- 
tune- proof cheerfulness of temper; they never question the 
value of life and are too happy in the enjoyment of a 
present existence to waste much time with speculation 
on the prospect of a better hereafter. At the approach 
of old age, however, that constitutional joyousness grad- 
ually yields to the development of an instinctive pessi- 
mism. Disappointment, or mere satiety, produce that 
feeling of world-weariness by which Nature seems to 
reconcile the evening of life to the prospect of the long 
night, and which, by the influence of enervating excesses 
or under the weight of special grievous afflictions, may 
often assert itself at a comparatively early age. Worn- 
out debauchees and faded flirts are apt to become prema- 
turely pious. Doomed criminals renounce the vanities 
of a world they are about to leave with the assistance of 
the county sheriff. From the anguish of a hopeless day 
the soul turns naturally to the solace of sleep — with or 
without the prospect of a brighter morning; and the 
grief of departure is blunted by the depreciation of the 
forfeited blessings. Worn-out nations, too, console 
themselves by withdrawing from the arena of interna- 
tional competition that has ceased to oflfer them a hope 
of success. They become stolid; they blunt the sting of 
defeat by renouncing ambition ; they blunt the stigma of 
physical degeneration by suppressing the instincts of 
manhood. Their yearning turns from the scenes of 
life to the hope of a better beyond — the peace of the 
grave or the visionary joys of the spirit-world. Hence 
the physical apathy of degenerate nations ; hence also 
their instinctive partiality for the doctrine of renunci- 
ation, and the rapid spread of Buddhism among the de- 
crepit nations of the East. The gospel of Buddha 
Sakyamuni is simply an apotheosis of Death. His doc- 
trine is a system of moral nihilism, and expounds a plan 

for avoiding the disappointments of life by renouncing 
its hopes. According to that dogma, not sin or sick- 
ness only, but life itself is an evil, and death its only 
remedy — definite death, to be purchased by the system, 
atic suppression of all vital instincts, and the concentra- 
tion of all hopes upon the prospect of Nirvana, the peace 
of final extinction. Among the bondage-crushed 
millions of the furthest East that ghastly creed soon 
attained a popularity rivaled only by the popularity of 
opium. Buddhism is a moral narcotic which has com- 
pleted the abasement and enervation of its votaries and 
made the imagined worthlessness of life a melancholy 
fact, but which for millions of abject wretches has un- 
doubtedly also mitigated the bitterness of that fact. To 
him who has succeeded in deadening the love of life 
the daily little vexations of existence become as insig- 
nificant as the roadside thorns to a man on his way 
to a self-chosen grave, and the devotee who had re- 
nounced all hopes but that of extinction could more 
easily brook the life-shortening misery of toil and des- 
potism. Despotism itself seems to have recognized the 
advantages of that tendency, and the shrewd autocrats 
of China and Siam were zealous promoters of a creed 
that helped to lethargize the rebellious instincts of their 

Under exactly analogous auspices the Doccrme of 
Renunciation was afterward preached on the shores of 
the Mediterranean. The moral energy of the van- 
quished nations of Syria and Asia Minor had been ex- 
hausted by centuries of incessant warfare. Despotism, 
aided by luxury and vice, had undermined the manhood of 
their conquerors, and it is a curious fact that the conver- 
sion of the Roman Empire was preceded by a wide- 
spread epidemic of pessimism. Even during the long 
peace of the Antonines the philosophers of Greece and 
Rome vied in lamenting the hopelessness of the prevail- 
ing degeneration, and in exalting the solace of exile and 
suicide. The stoicism of Marcus Aurelius was tinged 
with a despondency bordering on absolute life-weari- 
ness. Moralists and historians plainly predicted the im- 
pending fall of the Empire, though that fall seemed to 
involve the absolute ruin of civilization. The propa- 
ganda of a world-renouncing gospel of anti-naturaHsm 
intensified and consolidated those tendencies, and soon 
spread vfith the rapidity of a moral epidemic. Patriots 
passionately resisted that consummation of their doom; 
philosophers appealed to every remaining vestige of man- 
hood and common sense, but the world-renouncers were 
favored by the general current of tendencies and were 
soon able to enforce the victory of their creed by com- 
pulsory education and the sword of secular power. 
That triumph, however, would have been consummated 
even without such allies. The seed of anti-naturalism 
had fallen on a receptive soil. The anti-physical prin- 
ciple of the new religion strongly recommended itself to 



an era of physical degeneration. Effeminate sensualists 
welcomed the discovery that "physical exercise profiteth 
but little." The victims of decrepitude consoled them- 
selves with the hope of a better hereafter. Envious 
impotence denounced the worldliness of physical recre- 
ations. Mental emasculation, too, was glad to exchange 
the pursuits of philosophy for the duties of faith and 
spiritual subordination. By dint of persistent inoculation 
the dogmas of pessimism gradually acquired the strength 
of hereditary instincts; the nations of Southern Europe 
learned to crave for the moral opiates of their priest- 
hood, as a generation of inebriates learns to crave for 
the influence of spirituous narcotics; and when the man- 
lier nations of the North shook off the yoke of spiritual 
bondage, the Latin races continued to hug their fetters 
— not by the accident of political vicissitudes or 
hierarchical compulsion, but as an inevitable conse- 
quence of deep-rooted race tendencies. Italy would have 
burnt Martin Luther, as she burnt Bruno and Savo- 
narola; with or without Martin Luther Germany 
would sooner or later have burnt the papal bull. Like 
other errors of dualism, tlie doctrines of other-worldli- 
ness were always strongly repugnant to the naturalistic 
instincts of the German race. They had indured that 
doctrine as an unwilling patient might indure the taste 
of a virulent drug, which to others may have become a 
mind-enslaving tipple, but which to him never ceases to 
be repulsive to a degree revealed in the opportune mo- 
ment of emancipation from the thralldom of the drug- 
monger. And though in breaking their fetters, the 
Northern Aryans could not break the entrenched 
strongholds of supernaturalism, their home-creed is fast 
reverting to the type of a pure monism. In a thousand 
days the listener at the fireside of a thousand German 
.nnd Anglo-American homes would not be apt to hear a 
single allusion to the vagaries of dualism; the fancies of 
other-worldliness, preternaturalisni and spiritism are as 
downright distasteful to a large plurality of our Ger- 
manic contemporaries as the dogmas of St. Boniface 
were to the countrymen of Wittekind. After a millen- 
nium of dogmatic intrigues race tendencies have pre- 
V liled against the combined power of secular and spirit- 
u;;! ilpsp'^tisin. 


Translated from the German by F. W. Morton. 

Despite the vast acquisitions of the natural sciences — 
the blinding flood of light which they have cast upon 
us — we must not overlook their great imperfections — 
their shadow side. Observation and the ceaseless collec- 
tion of astonishing facts keep swelling the storehouse of 
knowledge. Before it we stand with covetous looks; 
and in its boundless riches the scientist revels. With 
weak and uncertain strides the thinker makes his way. 

Speculation is under ban and bar. In the blind self- 
assertion of empiricism, this, the most powerful weapon 
of the human mind, which has led it to its proudest vic- 
tories, is to-day cast aside in contempt. A systematic 
treatment of the empirical matter of the universe, a 
philosophical insight into scientific acquisitions, is a 
thing which is neither honored nor striven for. 
Precious as are the revealed treasures, says Haeckel in 
strict truth, our modern scientific knowledge resembles 
a promiscuous stone heap which must be sorted and 
brought to a systematic structure before it can acquire 
real worth. 

Instead of regarding the world as a whole, and 
uniting observed facts together according to their 
causes so as to make possible an explanation of the uni- 
verse, every scientist takes a piece of the world, dissects 
it and analyzes it. Untroubled by the import of others, 
this particular part is for him the world, which, in his 
own way, he seeks to explain. If, however, this world 
is a systematic whole, and we cannot think of it other- 
wise, then any phenomenon which is taken from this 
whole cannot be explained by itself alone. When a 
scientist deviates from this, the only correct point of 
view, and seeks to explain things by themselves and not 
in connection with the universe, all experiments, as, for 
instance, those touching the phenomena of life or intel- 
lectual activities, must end in a pitiable failure. The 
physicist arranges his atoms and their powers, without 
troubling himself about biology and physiology; he 
constructs his mechanism of the world without the 
slightest reference to the phenomena of life and their 
tendencies. And so, on the other hand, biology con- 
strues an organic substance, without questioning in 
respect to it, whether the inorganic phenomena may not 
be deduced from it. 

For matter or world-substance (which includes the 
two great groups, organic and inorganic phenomena), 
we have first of all to seek a fundamental conception — 
one which will contain in itself, unconditionally, the ele- 
ments for the world's vast series of evolutions, in both 
realms. With what blindness this greatest of all require- 
ments is neglected, and how all logical thought is 
retarded and kept working on the surface of phenom- 
ena, is shown, for example, by the attempts that have 
been made to explain, and even to imitate, the origin of the 
first germs of life. Equally unfortunate have been the 
attempts, hitherto made, to explain spiritual phenomena; 
they have always reverted to the idealistic fallacy. I 
merely recall here the false conclusions of a modern 
kind of monism, which is at present popular, and which 
in some respects surpasses idealistic dogmatics in super- 

This wrong monism starts from the same funda- 
mental conception as we do. It attributes to matter 
the two fundamental properties, motion and sensibility 



•or feeling; and concerns itself with deducing from this 
principle of sensibility or feeling the organic and spirit- 
Ma\ phenomena. But how greatly does this false view 
of monism err in this! Instead of deducing from these 
elementary properties the higher phenomena of evolu- 
tion, it transforms the most complex conditions and 
processes into elementary substance itself. The organic 
impulses, the most complicated qualities and modes of 
feeling, the intellectual forms of intuition respecting 
space, time and causality, it attributes directly to the 
principle of feeling as the fundamental property of mat- 
ter itself. For example, it is not enough for an atom to 
have simply the property of mechanical motion; it must 
also possess that of feeling, together with the impulses 
of life and order, the intuitions of space and time, the 
idea of causality, and the like! Who does not see that 
this is not accomplishing a solution of the riddle, but is 
merely evading a solution ? Idealism is only tricked out 
■with another name and another form. 

If we examine the conceptions of matter or substance, 
•which have been framed for the world's mechanism, ve 
find the most popular to be the kinetic, that lying at he 
foundation of modern mechanics. From of old, this nas 
offered at least the prospect of explaining organic and 
even spiritual phenomena. The idea, however, of a 
hard particle of matter vibrating in empty space, and act- 
ing only by its impact, is inconceivable. The deduction 
of any reasonable and conscious action from such a funda- 
mental principle, from this incorporation of blind chance 
or willess, purposeless force — how can such a theory 
recommend itself to thinking minds! Yet the philosoph- 
ical necessity of our physics compels us, in the face of the 
manifold operations of the organic world, to pay homage 
to such a principle. Permit me, then, for the sake of 
establishing my own position, to adduce something 

The only conception of matter, which affords us 
here a free course, is founded, in direct opposition to sep- 
arate particles vibrating in empty space, on the idea of a 
continuous, contractile, elastic matter ( Weltsubstanz, the 
vvrorld-substance), which fills the illimitable space with- 
out interruption, and whose sole manifestation of power 
consists in contraction or condensation. In consequence 
of this energy of condensation we have to conceive of 
the world-substance as differentiated; i. e. it is com- 
posed of infinitely small centers of condensation, which 
a-'e severed from one another, yet without being sepa- 
rated by empty space from one another. There is thus 
expressed merely the individualization which meets us 
in an unmistakable way in all cosmic phenomena and 
■which has received its most complete and correct expres- 
sion in the former atomistic theories. These centers of 
condensation exactly represent the atoms or primitive 
atoms of the old ideas of matter. Imagine, for example, 
a rubber plate stretched over a table and fastened at the 

edges of the table. On this rubber plate let any num- 
ber of hands be placed, flatwise, at equal distances. If 
these hands now close unifor^nly the rubber in the 
palms of the hands shrinks or concentrates. Thus it 
is clear that in the spaces originally empty, that is 
where no hands were laid, a state of tension in the rub- 
ber mass must take place. This tension will soon reach 
a maximum; and if from this moment any one of the 
hands closes still more and thus grasps a greater amount 
of rubber, this mass will continue to shrink only on con- 
dition that a supremacy be gained over one or more 
other hands, i. e. that the latter relax in a corresponding 
degree. This comparison is a crude one, it is true, but 
it affords us approximately the best standpoint for a com- 
prehensive view. 

We can ascribe to the centers of condensation a 
medium degree of density which we may call zero ; from 
which, on the one side, they condense to a maximum 
degree, and from which, on the other, they expand to a 
corresponding maximum degree, according as they 
are compressed or dilated. Now, let us call every ad- 
vancing condensation a positive fluctuation and every 
retreating expansion a negative fluctuation. Thus we 
have a maximum value for the positive and a 
maximum value for the negative fluctuations. 
According to the fineness of the distinction we wish to 
draw, we can interpose any number of changes in vol- 
ume between the two maximum values. In other words, 
a center of condensation may require millions or billions 
of condensation vibrations before it passes from the 
maximum degree of the negative fluctuations to the max- 
imum value of condensation. It must, then, be unques- 
tionably true that the exclusive tendency of matter is 
condensation. Every center of condensation strives in- 
tensely toward the positive maximum value; and every 
relaxation, every negative fluctuation, can only be -pushed 
or forced upon a center of condensation. If it has 
experienced such a negative fluctuation, it always seeks to 
free itself from this; and only when the opposition of the 
surrounding centers of condensation is too great for it to 
overcome does it retain the negative fluctuation received. 
Every condensation, every positive fluctuation, suffers a 
diminution of volume; every negative fluctuation, on 
the other hand, an increase of volume; and, since we 
regard matter as continuous, it clearly follows that for 
every positive fluctuation of a center of condensation a 
negative fluctuation of one or more other centers must 
follow. Every approach to a center of condensation in- 
fluences the affected centers, so as to cause a further con- 

On this transference of condensation impulses depend 
the enormous series of physical phenomena, in which is 
rooted the nature of heat, light, electricity, etc. I have 
in a larger work, "Force; a Monistic View of the 
World" (Leipzig, Haupt & Tischler, 1S7S), explained 



how, by the opposition of positive and negative fluctua- 
tions, the compression and expansion of centers of con- 
densation, the entire mechanical world-process springs 
into life and exhausts itself; how whole groups of cen- 
ters of condensation united and formed the first germs of 
the spheres; how the masses in the intermediate space 
were forced to absorb from these condensed planetary 
bodies their condensation impulses; how thereby the 
fundamental distinction between ether and matter grad- 
ually shaped itself; how by the intensified etherical 
masses the phenomena of motion and gravitation were 
called into being; in short, how by transference of con- 
densation impulses the physical powers of light, heat, 
electricity, mignetism and chemism can be fully ex- 

{To be continued.) 


The Open Court presented in its latest issues two 
essays on social problems, " The Ethics of Economics" 
by Gould, and "National Taxation" by Anti-monopolist. 
The one proposes as a solution of the social question an 
" equivalence of service" which should be realized by a 
system of co-operation; the other suggests in the place of 
our import duties an income tax which should be as- 
sessed under oath. Both articles are interesting reading ; 
they are also keen in their arguments so far as they are 
negative, showing the weak points in the position of 
their adversaries. Both call for reform and demonstrate 
that it is greatly needed. But concerning the means by 
which they would improve the present state of things, 
we cannot agree with them. The co-operative system, 
as suggested by Mr. Gould, has hitherto proved a 
failure because in this scheme one important factor is 
omitted. Only ^ro^/-sharing is taken into consideration) 
but it is forgotten that this must necessarily imply loss- 
sharing also. 

The proposition of Anti-monopplist to introduce a 
taxation of income is an interference with the personal 
liberty of the citizens by subjecting their business and 
their books to the inspection of the tax-gatherers. There 
can be no doubt that real estate, the immovable property 
which cannot be hidden and is easily assessed, is the fit- 
test object for taxation. Also luxury can be taxed in 
consideration of the fact that many people like the dis- 
play of certain luxuries because they are expensive. An 
income tax will always be objectionable and if it is 
based on self-assessment, it will be a premium to the un- 
scrupulous and dishonest. 


Who are the heroes of free tliought? Those who 
smile at religious sentiment and think that "religion is 
good for the masses while the educated naturally stand 
above any religious emotion" — or those who struggle 
and yearn for truth, who suffer for it and advance 

slowly, but earnestly, on the path of human progress? 
The former may be more advanced in refinement, 
knowledge and worldly wisdom, but the latter only are 
the heroes of free thought. Such men were Giordano 
Bruno, Spinoza, Luther, Lessing, Hume, Kant and 
others, and it is noteworthy that almost all of them 
were not only from childhood earnestly pious, but that 
they also came from families where religion was more 
than the mere observance of ceremonial rites. 

Let us confine ourselves to the best known of such 
characters. David Hume is a Scotchman, whose ances- 
tors were, as are all the old Scotch people, very de- 
voted Puritans. Kant, also, is of such Puritan Scotch 
origin, and we know that his mother was a devout 

Spinoza is a Jew. His parents left their home in 
Spain for Holland, in order to remain faithful to the re- 
ligion of their ancestors. They might have comfortably 
remained in Spam if they had abjured their belief and 
turned Christians. The religious spirit of Spinoza's 
writings is fully appreciated even by his adversaries, 
and he showed this religious spirit in practical life when, 
for the sake of truth, he scorned the terrible curse of the 
synagogue, in the teachings of which he had been edu- 

Luther's faith and love of truth is an historic fact. He 
was a hero of free thought, which his contemporary, the 
great Pope Leo X., was not. Pope Leo was a free- 
thinker of the modern stamp. Luther was a firm be- 
liever, Leo was an unbeliever. Luther had faith in God 
like a child. Pope Leo was unhampered by any credo 
and at the same time was a protector of art and a pro- 
moter of humanitarianism. He did much for the Re- 
naissance in resuscitating Greek letters and Greek culture. 
He built the glorious Cathedral of Saint Peter's at 
Rome and to show his Helenic spirit he placed upon 
the cross formed by the four great aisles of the largest 
church on earth a cupola resembling the pagan Pan- 
theon. In his heart Greek paganism triumphed over 

Compare this great Maecenas, the free-thinker, the 
humanitarian, the erudite man, with the poor, almost 
illiterate Augustine monk. Would you then have rec- 
ognized the power of free thought in the latter and the 
lack of it in the former? What gave to the simple- 
hearted believer the strength to lead humanity one great 
step onward, so as to gain for every man the freedom of 
his conscience — the Christian's liberty, as Luther called 
it? It was not that he believed less of the dogmatic 
Christianity, but that his religious faith was stronger. 
Pope Leo was indifl^erent to religion ; he was a free- 
thinker, and, upon receiving the Peter's pence, spoke of 
"the profitable fable of Christ." He appreciated and 
understood Luther's opposition so little that he thought 
his preaching against Tetzel's sale of indulgences was 




mere jealousy of the Augustine monk's against the 
Dominican Order, to whom the sale was entrusted. Leo 
could not imagine that any one would endanger his life 
for the sake of conviction. 

Luther very probably would have been shocked had 
he foreseen that humanity would advance on the path of 
religious free thought. He did not see so far. But it was 
better for him and better for the cause which he boldly 
defended. We, however, should learn from the juxtaposi- 
tion of those two men, Leo X. in all his papal splendor 
and the poor monk Martin in his simple faith, that the 
heroism of free thought is no mere indifferent negation 
of religious dogmatism, but strong faith — religious faith 
— and confidence in truth. Let us boldly and consist- 
ently think the truth, let us speak the truth modestly 
but firmly, that is the spirit by which the heroes of free 
thought became a power and rose above their time so as 
to lead humanity to higher and nobler aims. p. c. 



How calmly beautiful! The moonlight covers 
The vale and woodland with a mystic haze 

And over all a brooding spirit hovers, 
The phantom of itself in other days. 

The warmth of spring is on the ground new-broken ; 

The birds are in their nests upon the tree ; 
The blossom and the bud al where give token; 

O Death, cold Death, lift up your eyes and see! 

Lift up your eyes — have I not owned your power? — 
And see what thing it is that makes me grieve. 

What wealth of beauty May has brought for dower, 
What wealth of beauty you would have me leave. 

See there where young Love walks and youth and 

Follow without misgiving as he goes; 
The weight wherewith their longing hearts are laden 

But shadow of the coming of the rose. 

Look up and see the star that like an ember 
Fades slowly as the rising moon takes height — 

An eye made dim with bliss; O Death, remember 
How once I thought your dark was blinding light. 

Anon the levant sky will send a warning 
And all that fear the sun will hide away, 

Another world will wake to greet the morning 
And joys of night give place to joys of day. 

Look up and see the glory and the gladness 
That I forewent to make myself your thrall. 

Fear not! no hope can come to rend the sadness 
That clothes around my spirit like a pall. 

*Copy'right iy Louis Belrosr, Jr., 1888. 

Death, no sword of yours alone had harmed me; 
This leaden hand was strong in fence and youth ; 

Mine eyes that looked on yours when you disarmed me 
Were dazzled by the sudden glare of Truth. 

1 yield, but let me dream a single hour, 

O, let me dream of what life was to me. 

And feel as then once more in all its power 

The magic of the Mays that used to be. 

Smile on! my heart has learned to brook derision; 

For that tlie lessons of the world suffice; 
Smile on! It comes again as in a vision, 

That sense of something in the moon-lit skies! 

It comes! it fills the distance where the haze is, 
Beyond the valley where the woodlands part; 

I feel it rolling through the forest mazes; 
It comes, it comes! I feel it in my heart! 

joy! Breathe low, the violets are sleeping. 

O joy! Breathe low and let the flowers dream. 
My little friends, the blades of grass, are weeping. 
But all for joy — see how their bright tears gleam ! 

No sound but that strange swell that seems to number 
The world's heart-beats; no night-bird's call to break 

The silence of the myriads that slumber, 
The silence of the myriads that wake. 

The wood, the vale, where was it that I knew them 
As now they are? in what forgotten days? 

Two lovers that I know come walking through them. 
A bit of England out of Shakespeare's plays! 

1 feel old lands beyond the vague horizon 

Where once the spring made warm our new-land 
Beyond, beyond, a shore my soul keeps eyes on, 
A distant shore, unwashed of earthly flood. 

On such a night we stood where swift and swollen 
The river ran, and watched the moon-lit wave, 

Till passed a cloud, when love's first kiss was stolen; 
By yon pale star was seen the first she gave. 

Sweet influence of earth and heaven blending 
Toward fruitful harvest of the seed new-sown! 

A mystic promise of the life unending; 
A matchless vision of the joys unknown. 

A dream, a dream! O Death, is joy but dreaming? 

Our lives are fallen upon evil days; 
Time was when all fared on through hopeful seeming. 

But we have reached the parting of the ways. 

Our comrades go where yet the roadside flowers 

With all the bloom that makes our old selves yearn, 

We walk in dust and feel no soothing showers; 
Our grief it is to know that they must turn. 



No gilded cloud, no fond mirage deceives us, 
We walk in dust along unfruitful lands, 

JVnd all the way one only thought relieves us, 
That toil may thrive. Our hope is in our hands. 

Farewell the vision of a joy found hollow ; 

Heart's ease of things unending now farewell. 
Pare with us love for all that need must follow ; 

Fare with us strength to build where they must dwell. 

For us the night, for them shall be the morrow, 
False hope forgot and groundless faith laid by; 

The rising sun will brighten every sorrow 
When stars are all we look for in the sky. 

We know they dream, the friends from whom we 
We know they dream and know that they must 
They dream in peace and we are heavy-hearted; 
What can we give for all the dawn must take? 

When cold and dim the Truth's first rays fall slanting 
On eyes that open but that leave the heart 

As yet a little while to sleep's enchanting 

We'll light the fires and do the morning's part. 

And though we bring but little store of promise. 

One grief that we have known they shall not know; 

The feeling of all fellow-souls far from us, 
The loneliness that doubles every woe. 

Man's heart must cling to something. Shall it never 
Have rest in hope that Time cannot destroy? 

O heart, be comforted, for man's endeavor 

Shall find the gradual peace that turns to joy. 



To the Editor: Worcester, Mass., February, iS88. 

Readers of The Open Court will be interested in a droll 
discussion that has cropped out in a recent number of that excel- 
lent mother's magazine. Babyhood. This journal has a depart- 
ment entitled, " High-Chair Philosophy," in which the amusing 
sayings of children on all possible topics, and among others on 
theology, are chronicled; and an English mother has written to 
protest against the publication of these latter as sacrilegious. It 
is wrong, she urges, to laugh at such things. When a child prays, 
" Give us this day our daily bread, with butter and jam both," she 
thinks this sweet prattle too sacred for the world to joke and 
laugh about. To this the editor of Babyhood replies that no ques- 
tion can be more important than the process by which children 
acquire their religious beliefs, and the best way to study this proc- 
ess is by collecting children's sayings on religious topics. " Such 
a study may enable us to do much toward preventing the mind at 
its earliest development from wandering into all kinds of fantastic 
notions." It may be added, also, that the mirth provoked by 
these sayings seems of the most innocent kind, for it is the mirth 
of love. Moreover, the questionings of the young have often 
served a good purpose by opening older eyes to the absurdities of 
some false belief. " Let the world beware when a thinker is 

born," says Emerson, and are not all children thinkers.' Their 
inquisitive minds refuse to accept off-hand the conventional 
beliefs that satisfy grown-up people, and on the whole the circum- 
stance is to their credit. They believe in looking into things; 
and the whole history of rationalism lies potentially in the child 
who asks its mother whether God wears a hat. Xenos Clark. 


Mr. Hegeler: New York City, Feb. 27, xSSS. 

Dear Sir — Why not change name of The Opev Court to 
the one you originally proposed, " The Monist." You had a 
definite purpose in establishing the paper — the diffusion of " Mon- 
ism." You yielded to the proposition to give the paper the name 
suggested by Mrs. Underwood in oi-der to overcome the objections 
of the Underwood's — proper enough perhaps from their agnostic 
standpoint, but without validity from your monistic point of 
view. Now change the name; make it definite, and also make 
the purpose and spirit of the paper definite and consistent. What 
have such articles as Trumbull's, Whipple's, Woolley's, Gould's 
and Cole's to do with Monism .' What have eight out of ten of 
the articles in the last issue to do with Monism .' Give us more 
of your own thought relating directly to Monism and eliminate 
irrelevant discussion, such as abounds in Nos. 25 and 26, and 
thereby show your readers that you have a definite purpose. In- 
vite discussion of your Monistic views. Intelligent readers are 
tired of the common place of philosophy and theology. 

Yours truly, 

A Monist. 

[The advice given in the above letter is no doubt well in- 
tended, but it is not wise to change the name of a journal after it 
has once become established, especially when its main purpose 
is clearly expressed on its title page. " To reconcile religion 
with science," in order that they may work harmoniously 
together in the elevation of mankind, is the object of The Open 
Court. This mission, in the opinion of the founder and the 
editor of The Open Court, is to be performed by Monism. 
Monism is not a side-issue, but the fundamental principle of phil- 
osophy, a principle whose branches extend over the whole domain 
of science and ethics and draw nourishment from every truth in 
the world. 

The title of this journal is an invitation or friendly challenge 
to all opponents to disprove if they can the Monistic argument 
contained in the editorial columns and in the varied contributions 
to The Open Court. To this end all intelligent criticism is 
given welcome, and also such contributions are acceptable as do 
not agree with the owner's and editor's views, although both 
reserve their rights to state their differences of opinion when at 
variance with the contributors. By this method it is hoped that 
the aim of the journal is best attained and in this sense the name 
of The Open Court is fully warranted. 

If " A Monist " will read again the articles to which he takes 
exception, he will find that most of them contain a moral related 
more or less to the religious and ethical principles found in 
Monism as a conception of practical life which includes within it 
every duty. The physical sciences and the moral sciences har- 
monize in Monism and their laws confirm its claims. Physiol- 
ogy is an important part of religion, although it is generally 
classed among the natural sciences, and the study of it is neces- 
sary to a correct understanding of Monism. And so of politics, 
ethics, law and all the relations of men in church, in state and in 
private life. 

The Nos. 25 and 26, mentioned by our correspondent, 
are full of monistic thought. The homely philosophy of 
" Wheelbarrow " is Monism in a laborer's garb. Prof. Gizycki 
is a professed adherent of Monism. " The Value of Doubt," by 
Gen. Trumbull, is not a tribute to agnosticism. He "does not 



•deify doubt, he merely recommends it as a means for avoiding 
error, and obtaining a definite statement of the truth.. He might 
have called " doubt" criticism or self-criticism, but we cannot 
quibble so closely with our contributors about words. The other 
articles in those numbers have a Monistic moral, especially the edi- 
torials and the story of " The Lost Manuscript." Its pages one by 
one are full of Monism. I remind the reader of the thoughts ex- 
pressed on the occasion of the storm, during which the great fir- 
tree was smitten by lightning. How far many of the essays ar- 
Tange themselves into the frame of The Open Court may be 
learned from our circular which will accompany this number. 
We shall be very glad to hear from our correspondent again.] 


Biographies of Words and the Home of the Aryas. By 

I^. Max Muller. London : Longmans, Green & Co. New 

York: 15 East Sixteenth street; 18SS. 

Tne author says in the introduction: 

" If what I have tried to prove in my Science of Tliought* is 
true, if thought is impossible without language, as language is 
■without thought, many things will follow, not dreamt of yet in 
our philosophy. But leaving aside these graver matters for the 
present, there is one thing which, as everybody can see, will 
follow by necessity from the admission of the inseparableness of 
language and thought, and that is that all thoughts which have 
■ever passed through the mind of men must have found their first 
•embodiment, and their permanent embalmment, in words. 

"If then we want to study the history of the human mind in 
its earliest phases, where can we hope to find more authentic) 
more accurate, more complete documents than in the annals of 
language.' * * * 

"Our words are not rough, unhewn stones, left at our door 
l)y a glacial moraine; they are blocks that have been brought to 
light by immense labor, that have been carved, shaped, measured 
and wrighed again and again, before they became what we find 
them to be. Our poets make poems out of words, but every 
word, if carefully examined, will turn out to be itself a petrified 
poem, a reward of a deed done or of a thought thought by those 
to whom we owe the whole of our intellectual inheritance, the 
capital on which we live, with which we speculate and strive to 
.grow richer and richer from day to day. 

"Every word, therefore, has a story to tell us, if only we can 
hreak the spell and make it speak out once more." * * * 

And Max Muller understands how to make words tell their 
•stories : 

"What is, for instance, the meaning of the word Father.' 
Has any more plausible interpretation been oflfered than that it 
meant feeder, protector, ruler.' Pater, Sk. pitar, consists of a 
radical element Pa, and a derivative element tar. The root of 
PA means to feed in pa-bulum, food; it means to protect in Sk. 
go pa, cow-herd; and it means strong, ruler, king, in Sk. pa-ti, 
lord, i^tc-TTi-Triq^ lord, potis, strong. Some scholars may doubt 
about the connection of pa in pati with pa in pater, but the fact 
that father was intended by the early Aryas as a feeder, protector, 
and lord, would not be in the least affected by this. Which of 
these three meanings was present to the mind of the original 
framers of the word it is impossible to say. A root lives in its 
derivatives, and its meanings are called out and diflferentiated by 
the varying purposes which it is made to serve. But whether the 
Aryas, before they were broken up into Hindus, Persians, Greeks, 
Italians, Teutons, Slaves, and Celts, conceived the father as a 
feeder, or a protector, or a ruler, it is quite clear that they could 
not have framed such a name during the so-called metrocratic 

■ The Science of Thought, by F. Max MUlier. Longn 


stage, when, as we are told, the mother was the feeder, protector 
and ruler of her young, and the father no more than a casual 
visitor. * * * 

"When we find such a name as pa.'u in India, Italy, and Ger- 
many, used in the sense of cattle, we know that the people who 
used such a word must have tethered their cattle, for pa5u comes 
from a root P A^S, to fetter. * * * 

" The name for king, ^anaka in Sanskrit and chuning in Ger- 
man, seems to me still, as it did years ago, a very strong argument 
in support of the patriarchal theory of government. For it could 
only be among people where the father f^anaka) wielded the 
highest authority that the name for father could become the 
name for king, as^ani, wife, became the name for queen, Gothic 
quino. * * * 

" Wherever we analyze language in a truly scholarlike spirit, 
whether in Iceland or Tierra del Fuego, we shall find in it the key 
to some of the deepest secrets of the human mind, and the solu- 
tion of problems in philosophy and religion which nothing else 
can supply. Each language, whether Sanskrit or Zulu, is like a 
palimpsest, which, if carefully handled, will disclose the original 
text beneath the superficial writing, and though that original text 
may be more difficult to recover in illiterate languages, yet it is 
there nevertheless. Every language, if properly summoned, will 
reveal to us the mind of the artist, who framed it, from its earliest 
awakening to its latest dreams. Every one will teach us the 
same lesson, the lesson on which the whole Science of Thought 
is based, that there is no language without reason, as there is no 
reason without language." 

The book contains the biographies of many words which are 
extremely interesting and it reveals the earliest civilization of our 
Aryan ancestors as can be reconstructed from their language. 

The appendices are no less valuable. They contain Max 
Miiller's correspondence concerning Aryan Fauna and Flora, the 
original home of the Jade, the original home of the Soma, and 
other topics. 

Journal d'un Philosophe. 'Pkv. Lucien Arreat. Paris: 

Felix Arcan; 1S87. 

Lucien Arreat is one of those Frenchmen who have affiliated 
themselves with the modern school of psychology as expounded 
by Ribot, Binet and others. This he says of himself: " f ai 
morde a la psyc/wlogie nouvelle" (I have partaken (bitten into) of 
the modern psychology). 

In the introductory chapters of his book, yourmil d'un Phil- 
osofhe, p. 4, seq., he says: 

I do not dare to attempt to repeat what passed in my little 
brain. But few of the events remain in my thoughts. Am I 
really the same one who played at cligne-Musette and in whose 
blond beard the silver threads now mingle.' In those happy 
days of childhood I see myself double, triple and multiple, and 
that is still myself in whom the devil used to be. 

The devil is still there. The child was an imp and the man 
is no angel either. See me here writing a history of the time 
when I did not know my letters; a wise history which would sur- 
prise the rough boys, who afterward jumped upon my back at 
leap-frog, and for awhile my little self would rebel in pride; but 
my big self takes no notice of it, as of the whim of a spoilt child. 
Are there more wonderful adventures or more astonishing fairy 
tales.' The sensations which come to our consciousness, the net- 
work of nerves constituting memory, a special activity which 
connects the events of the soul, and the personality which issues 
therefrom! Let more clever ones tnan I explain it if they can. 

Every one of us is like a worker of tapestries, seated at his 
trade behind the flexible screen, passing the needles filled with 
wool through the extended canvass. We step before it to judge 
of our work, but the visitor, anxious to see the proceeding, passes 



behind it and comes to the bench of the worker. Thus the rich 
patterns of our thoughts have a side which we scarcely know. It 
is true that we ourselves have done the work; but unfortunately 
we do not know any the better for it how our hand wove the 
threads into cloth, nor how it guided the needle, and if we do 
turn a completed tapestry we cannot at first see anything tut 
knots and ends hanging from it. We would have to see it in 
progress and to inquire into the thread of the warp as well as into 
the color of the wool." 

In one of our next numbers we shall publish an essay from 
the above-mentioned volume. 



CHAPTER VIII.— Concluded. 

All gazed in horror at the object on the ground. 

" This is a serious answer to your question," ex- 
claimed the proprietor. " We pay a dear price for the 

He took the light and himself searched the opening; 
a heap of bones lay there. The others stood around in 
uncomfortable silence. At last the proprietor threw a 
skull out into the cellar, and cried out cheerfully, as a 
man who is relieved from painful feeling: 

" They are the bones of a dog !" 

" It was a small dog," assented the stonemason, 
striking the bone with his iron. The rotten bone broke 
in- pieces. 

"A dog!" cried the Doctor, delighted, forgetting for 
a moment his blighted hope. " That is instructive. 
The foundation wall of this house must be very old." 

"I am rejoiced that you are contented with this dis- 
covery," replied the proprietor, ironically 

But the Doctor would not be disconcerted, and re- 
lated how, in the early middle ages, there had been a 
superstitious custom of enclosing something living in the 
foundation wall of solid buildings. The custom de- 
scended from the ancient heathen times. The cases are 
rare where such things are found in old buildings, and 
the skeleton of a beast is an indisputable confirmation. 

" If it confirms your views," said the proprietor, "it 
confirms mine also. Hasten, men, to replace the stone." 

Now the stonemason lighted up and felt again in the 
opening and declared that there was nothing more 
there. The workman restored the stone to its place, 
the wine was replaced and the matter settled. The 
Doctor bore the jeering remarks, of which the proprietor 
was not sparing, with great tranquillity, and said to 
him : 

" What we have discovered is certainly not much; 
but we know now with certainty that the manuscript 
does not lie in this part of your house, but in another. 
I take with me a careful record of all the hollow places 
in your house, and we do not give up our claims in 
regard to this discovery; but we consider you from 

I" Copyright. 

this time as a man who has borrowed the manuscript for 
his own private use for an indefinite time, and I assure 
you that our wishes and desires will incessantly hover 
about this house." 

"Pray allow the persons who dwell there to partici- 
pate in your good wishes," replied the proprietor, 
smiling, and do not forget that in your researches after 
the manuscript you have in reality found the dog. For 
the rest, I hope that this discovery will free my house 
from the ill- repute of containing treasures, and for the 
sake of this gain I will be quite content with the useless 

" That is the greatest error of your life," replied the 
Doctor, with grave consideration; "just the reverse will 
take place. All people who have an inclination for 
hidden treasure will take the discovery in this light, that 
you are deficient in faith and have not employed the neces- 
sary solemnities, therefore the treasure is removed from 
your eyes and the dog placed there as a punishment. I 
know better than you what your neighbors will record 
for posterity. Tarry in peace for your awakening, 
Tacitus. Your most steadfast friend departs, and he 
whom I leave behind begins to make undue concessions 
to this household." 

He looked earnestly at the Professor and called 
Hans to accompany him on a visit to the village, in 
order to take a grateful leave of his old crones, and to 
obtain one of the beautiful songs of the people, of which 
he had discovered traces, to take home with him. 

He was gone a long time; for after the song there 
came to light unexpectedly a wonderful story of a 
certain Herr Dietrich and his horse, which breathed fire. 

When, toward evening, the Professor was looking 
out for him, he met Use who, with her straw hat in her 
hand, was prepared for a walk. 

" If it is agreeable to you," she said, " we will go to 
meet your friend." 

They walked along a meadow between stubble- 
fields, in which here and there grass was to be seen 
peeping up amongst the stubble. 

"The autumn approaches," remarked the Professor; 
" that is the first sign." 

" Winter-time is tedious to some people," answered 
Use, "but it puts us, like Till Eulenspiegel, in good spirits, 
for we enjoy its repose, and think of the approaching 
spring; and when the stormy winds rage round us, and 
the snow drifts to a man's height in the valleys, we sit 
at home in warmth and comfort." 

" With us in the city the winter passes away almost 
unheeded. The short days and the white roofs alone 
remind us of it, for our work goes on independently of 
changing seasons. Yet the fall of the leaf has from my 
childhood been depressing to me, and in the spring I 
always desire to throw aside my books and ramble 
through the country like a traveling journeyman." 



They ■were standing by a bundle of sheaves. Use 
arranged some of them as a seat, and looked over the 
fields to the distant hills. 

"How differently you and I regard everything," she 
began after a pause. " We are like the birds which year 
after year joyously flap their wings and live here con- 
tentedly; but you think and care about other times and 
other men that existed long before us; you are as familiar 
with the past as we are with the rising of the sun and the 
forms of the stars, and if the end of summer is sorrowful 
to you, it is equally as sorrowful to me to hear and pare 
of past times; and books of history make me very sad. 
There is so much unhappiness on earth, and it is always 
the good that come to a sorrowful end. I then become 
presumptuous, and ask why has God thus ordered it? 
It is really very foolish to feel thus, but for that reason 
I do not like to read history." 

"I understand tliistone of mind," answered the Pro- 
fessor, "where men strive sgainst their times to establish 
their own wills, they will almost always in the end suc- 
cumb as the weaker; even what seems to be successfully 
established by the strongest minds has no lasting dura- 
tion. Like men and their works, nations also pass away; 
but we should not let our hearts cling to the fate of 
individual men or nations, we should endeavor to under- 
stand why they became great and passed away, and 
what lasting benefit the human race has gained by their 
life. Then will the narrative of their fate be only a 
veil, behind which we discover the working of other 
living powers. We find that in the men who break 
down, and in the nations that pass away, there is a 
higher secret life, which according to internal laws is 
continually creating and destroying. To discover some 
of the laws of this higher life, and to feel the blessing 
which this creating and destroying has brought to our ex- 
istence, is the task and the pride of the historical inquirer. 
From this point of view, destruction and dissolution 
are changed into new life, and increasing certainty and 
elevation of heart comes to those who are accustomed to 
consider the past." 

Use shook her head and cast down her eyes. 

" And the Roman whose lost book brought you to 
us, and of which you have been talking to-day, is inter- 
esting to you because he has looked upon the world as 
cheerfully as you have?" 

" No," answered the Professor, " it is just the reverse 
which impresses one in his work. His earnest spirit 
could never rise to joyful confidence. The fate of his 
nation and the future of mankind lay heavy on his soul 
as a secret riddle; he perceived in the past a better time, 
freer governments, stronger characters and purer mor- 
als; he perceived a decline in his people and in the 
state, which even good governors could no longer 
retard. It is strange how the thoughtful man doubts 
whether this fearful fate of millions is the punishment 

of the Deity, or the result of there being no God who 
cares for the lot of mortals. Forebodingly and iron- 
ically he contemplates the history of individuals, and his 
wisest course is to bear the inevitable silently and pa- 
tiently. When, even for a moment, a brief smile curls 
his lips, one perceives that he is looking into a hopeless 
desert; one can imagine fear visible in his eyes, and the 
rigid expression which remains on one who has been 
shaken to the innermost core by deadly horrors." 

"That is sad," exclaimed Use. 

"Yes, it is fearful, and it is difficult to understand 
how any one could bear such a hopeless life. The 
pleasure of belonging to a nation of growing vigor was 
not then the lot of either heathen or Christian, for the 
highest and most indestructible happiness of man is to 
have confidence in that which exists, and to look with 
hope to the future, — and such is our life now. Much 
that is weak, corrupt and perishable surrounds us; but 
with it all there grows up an endless abundance of youth- 
ful vigor. The root and the trunk of our popular life are 
sound. Everywhere we find domestic life in families 
respect for morals and law, hard but valuable labor 
and energetic activity. In many thousands the conscious- 
ness exists that they increase the national strength, and 
in millions that are still far behind them the feeling that 
they also are striving to contribute to our civilization. 
This is our pleasure and glory in modern times, and 
helps to make us valiant and proud. But we well know 
that the joyful feeling of this possession may also be 
saddened, for temporary disturbances come to every 
nation in the course of its development. But its power 
of thriving cannot be thwarted, nor its career hin- 
dered, so long as the power and soundness of these 
securities exist. It is this that gives happiness to one 
whose vocation it is to investigate the past, for he looks 
down from the salubrious air of the heights into the 
darkness beneath him." 

Use gazed on him with wonder and admiration, but 
he bent over the sheaves which were between them and 
continued with enthusiasm : 

" Everyone forms the judgment and mood with 
which he contemplates the great relations of the world 
according to the course of his own personal experiences. 
Here you look around on the laughing summer land- 
scape, there on the busy men in the distance, and on 
what lies nearer your heart, your own home, and the 
circle in which you have grown up. How mild is the 
light, how warm the hearts, how sensible, good and 
true the hearts of those that surround you! You may 
believe how valuable it is to me to see this, and enjoy it 
by your side, and if henceforth, when occupied with my 
books, I deeply feel how noble and worthy is the life of 
my countrymen around me, I shall ever have to thank 
you for it." 

He stretched out his hand across the sheaves; Use 



seized it and clasped it between hers, while her warm 
tears fell upon it. She looked at him with her moist- 
ened eyes, while a world of happiness lay in her coun- 
tenance. Gradually a bright glow suffused her cheeks, 
she rose, and a look full of devoted tenderness fell upon 
him; then she walked hastily away from him along the 

The Professor remained leaning against the sheaves. 
The meadow-larks on the tips of the ears of grain over 
his head warbled joyfully. He pressed his cheek against 
the stack which half concealed him ; thus, in happy 
forgetfulness, he watched the maiden, who was descend- 
ing toward the distant laborers. 

When he raised his eyes his, friend was standing by 
him; he beheld a countenance which quivered with 
inward sympathy, and heard the gentle question: 

" What will come of it?" 

"Husband and wife," said the Professor, decidedly; 
he pressed his friend's hand, and strode across the fields 
to the songs of the larks which greeted him from every 

Fritz was alone; the word had been spoken; a new 
and awful fate overshadowed the life of his friend. So 
this is to be the end of it ? Thusnelda, instead of Tacitus — 
ah, Fritz felt that the social custom of marriage might be 
a very venerable institution; it was inevitable for almost 
all men to pass through the uprooting struggle which 
is the consequence of a change in the mutual relations 
of life. He could not think of his friend amid his 
books, with his colleagues, and this woman. He felt 
painfully that his relation to the Professor must be 
changed by it. But he did not think long of himself, 
but anxiously worried about his rash friend ; and not 
less about her who had so dangerously impressed the 
soul of the other. The faithful friend looked angrily 
upon the surrounding stubble and straw, and he clenched 
his fists against the deceased Bachhuber; against the 
valley of Rossau ; nay, even against it, the immediate 
cause of the mischievous confusion — against the manu- 
script of Tacitus. 



Use had lived an unvaried home life since the death 
of her mother. Though scarcely grown up, she had 
taken charge of the household; spring and autumn 
came and went; one year rolled over her head like 
another; her father and sisters, the estate, the laborers, 
and the poor of the valley — these formed her life. 
More than once a suitor, a sturdy, worthy proprie- 
tor of the neighborhood, had asked her in marriage 
of her father; but she felt contented with her home, 
and she knew that it would be agreeable to her father 
for her to remain with him. In the evening, when 
the active man rested on the sofa, and the children 

were sent to bed, she sat silently by him with her 
embroidery, or talked over the small occurrences of the 
day — the illness of a laborer, the damage done by a 
hail storm or the name of the new milch cow. It was 
a lonely country; much of it was woodland; most of 
the estates were small; there were no rich neighbors;, 
and the father, who had worked his way by his energy, 
until he became an opulent man, had no inclination for 
society life, nor had his daughter. On Sunday the pas- 
tor came to dinner, and then the father's farm inspectors 
remained and related the little gossip of the neighbor- 
hood over their coffee; the children, who, during the 
week, were under the charge of a tutor, amused them- 
selves in the garden and fields. When Use had a leisure 
hour she seated herself in her own little sitting-room 
with a book out of her father's small library — a novel 
by Walter Scott, a tale by HaufFor a volume of Schiller. 

But now a world of thoughts, images and feelings 
had been awakened in her mind by this stranger. Much 
that she had hitherto looked upon with indifference in 
the outer world now became interesting to her. Like 
fire-works which unexpectedly shoot up, illuminating 
particular spots in the landscape with their colored light, 
his conversation threw a fascinating light, now here and 
now there, on outside life. When he spoke — and his- 
words, copious and choice, flowed from his innermost 
heart — she bent her head as in a dream, then fixed her 
eyes on his face. She felt a respect commingled with 
fear for a human mind that soared so loftily and firmly 
above the earth. He spoke of the past as intimately as 
of the present; he knew how to explain the secret 
thoughts of men who had lived a thousand years before. 
Ah! she felt the glory and greatness of human learning- 
as the merit and greatness of the man who sat opposite 
to her; the intellectual labor of many centuries appeared 
to her like a supernatural being which proclaimed from 
a human mouth things unheard of in her home. 

But it was not learning alone. When she looked 
up at him, she saw beaming eyes, a kindly expression 
about the eloquent lips; and she felt herself irresistibly 
attracted by the warmth of the man's nature. Then 
she sat opposite to him as a quiet listener; but when she 
entered her room, she knelt down and covered her face 
with her hands. In this solitude she saw him before 
her and offered him homage. 

Thus she awoke to a new life. It was a state of 
pure enthusiasm, of unselfish rapture, such as a man 
knows not and only a woman can experience, — which 
comes only to a pure, innocent heart when the greatest 
crisis of earthly existence comes to the sensitive soul in 
the bloom of life. 

She saw also that her father was partially under the 
same magical influence. At dinner, which used to be so 
silent, conversation now flowed as from a living spring; 
in the evening, when formei'ly he used to sit wearily 



over the newspaper, much was discussed, and there were 
frequent disputes which lasted late into the night; but 
her father, when he took his bedroom candle from the 
table, was always in cheerful humor; and more than 
once he repeated to himself, pacing up and down, sen- 
tences that had been uttered by his guest. "He is, in his 
way, a fine man," he said; "in all things stable and 
sound ; one always knows how to take him." 

Occasionally she was alarmed at the Professor's 
opinions. The friends, indeed, avoided what might 
wound the deep faith of the hearer, but in the conver- 
sation of the Professor there sometimes seemed to be a 
peculiar conception of venerated doctrines and of human 
duties; and yet, what he maintained was so noble and 
good that she could not guard herself against it by her 
own reasoning. 

He was often vehement in his expressions; when he 
condemned he did it in strong language, and sometimes 
became so vehement that the Doctor and even her father 
withdrew from the contest. She thought then that he 
was different from almost all men — prouder, nobler and 
more decided. When he expected much of others, as is 
natural to one who had' lived in closer intercourse with 
the ideal world than with real life, it alarmed her to 
think in what light she must appear to him. But, on 
the other hand, this same man was ready to acknow- 
ledge everything that was good, and he rejoiced like a 
child when he learnt that anyone had shown himself 
brave and energetic. 

He was a serious man, and yet he had become a fav- 
orite with the children, even more than the Doctor. 
They confided their little secrets to him , he visited them 
in their nursery, and gave them advice according to his 
youthful recollections, as to how they should make a 
large paper kite; he himself painted the eyes and the 
moustache, and cut the tassels for the tail. It was a 
joyful day when the kite rose from the stubble-field 
for the first time. Then, when evening came, he sat 
down, surrounded by the children, like the partridge 
amongst her young. Franz climbed up the arm-chair 
and played with his hair; one of the bigger ones sat 
on each knee ; then riddles were given and stories 
told ; and when Use heard how he repeated and 
taught small rhymes to the children, her heart swelled 
with joy that such a mind should hold such intimate 
intercourse with simple children; and she watched his 
countenance and perceived a child-like expression light 
up the features of the man, laughing and happy; and 
she imagined him as a little boy, sitting on his mother's 
lap. Happy mother! 

Then came the hour among the sheaves, the learned 
discourse which began with Tacitus and ended with a 
silent acknowledgment of love. The blessed cheerful- 
ness of his countenance, the trembling sound of his 
voice, had torn away the veil that concealed her own 

agitated feelings. She now knew that she loved him 
deeply, and eternally, and she had a conviction that he 
felt just as she did. He, who was so greatly her 
superior, had condescended to her; she had felt his 
warm breath and the quick pressure of his hand. As 
she passed through the field, a glow suffused hercheeksj- 
the earth and heaven, fields and sun-lit wood, floated 
before her like luminous clouds. With winged feet she 
hastened down into the woody plain, where she was 
enveloped in the foliage. Now she felt herself alone,, 
and unconsciously seized a slender birch stem, which 
shook with her convulsive grasp, and its leaves were 
strewed all around her. She raised her hands to the 
golden light of the heavens and threw herself down on 
the mossy ground. Her bosom heaved and panted vio- 
lently and she trembled with inward excitement. Love 
had descended from heaven upon the young woman,, 
taking possession of her body and soul with its irresisti- 
ble power. 

Thus she lay a long time. Butterflies played about 
her hair ; a little lizard crept over her hand ; the 
white tips of the wild flowers and the branches of the 
hazel bent over her, as if these little children of nature 
wished to veil the deep emotions of the sister who had 
come to them in the happiest moment of her life. 

At last she rose upon her knees, clasped her hands 
together and thanked and prayed to the dear God for him. 

She became more collected and went into the open 
valley, no longer the quiet maiden she was formerly; 
her own life and what surrounded her shone in new 
colors, and she viewed the world with new feelings. 
She understood the language of the pair of swallows- 
which circled round her, and with twittering tones passed 
by her swift as arrows. It was the rapturous joy of life 
which impelled the little bodies so swiftly through the air,, 
and the birds greeted her with a sisterly song of jubilee. 
She answered the greeting of the laborers who were 
going home from the fields, and she looked at one of 
the women who had been binding the sheaves, and 
knew exactly what was the state of her feelings. This 
woman also had, as a maiden, loved a strange lad; it had 
been a long and unhappy attachment, attended by much 
sorrow; but now she was comforted going with him to 
her home, and when she spoke to her mistress she looked 
proudly on her companion, and Use felt how happy was 
the poor weary woman. When Use entered the farm- 
yard, and heard the voices of the maids who had 
waited for her in vain, and the impatient lowing of the 
cattle, which sounded like a reproach on the loitering 
mistress, she shook her head gently, as if the admonition 
was no longer for her, but for another. 

When she again passed from the farm buildings into 
the golden evening light, with fleet steps and elevated 
head, she perceived with astonishment her father stand- 
ing by his horse ready to mount, and with him, in quiet 



conversation, the Doctor, and he whom at this moment 
she felt a difficulty in encountering. She approached 

" Where have you been lingering Use.?" cried the 
proprietor. " I must be off," and looking at the agi- 
tated countenance of his daughter, he added : " It is 
nothing of importance. A letter from the invalid for- 
ester calls me to his house; one of the Court people is 
come, and I can guess what they desire of me. I hope 
to be back at night." 

He nodded to the Doctor. " We shall see each other 
again before your departure." 

So saying, he trotte:d away, and Use was thankful in 
her heart for the incident which made it easier for her to 
speak with composure to the friends. She walked with 
them on the road along which her father had ridden, and 
endeavored to conceal her disquiet by talking on indiffer- 
ent subjects. She spoke of the hunting castle in the 
wood, and of the solitude in which the gray-headed for- 
ester dwelt among the beech-trees of the forest. But 
the conversation did not flow; each of those noble hearts 
was powerfully touched. The Professor and Use 
avoided looking at each other, and the friend could not 
succeed, by jocose talk, in drawing the lovers down to 
the small things of life. 

Use suddenly pointed with her hand to a narrow pass 
on one side, from which many dark heads were emerging. 

" See! there are the Indians of Frau RoUmaus." 

A number of wild figures came on with a quick step, 
one behind the other; in front a powerful man in a 
brown smock-frock and shabby hat, a stout stick in his 
hand; behind him some young men, then women with 
little children on their backs ; all round and about the troop 
ran half-naked boys and girls. Most of the strangers 
were bare-headed, and without shoes. Their long black 
hair hung about their brown faces and their wild eyes, 
even from a distance, stared eagerly on the walking party. 

" When the autumn comes, these people sometimes 
wander through our country; they are jugglers who are 
going to a fair; but for some years they have not ven- 
tured into the neighborhood of our estate." 

The troop approached ; there was a wild rush from 
the gang, and in a moment the friends were surrounded 
by ten or twelve dusky figures, who pressed on them 
with passionate gestures, loud cries and outstretched 
hands — men, women and children, in tumultuous con- 
fusion. The friends looked with astonishment on their 
piercing eyes and vehement movements, and on the 
children, who stamped with their feet, and clawed the 
strangers with their hands like mad creatures. 

" Back, you wild creatures," cried Use, pushing herself 
through the band, and placing herself before the friends. 
" Back with you; who is the chief of the band.?" she 
repeated with anger, and raised her arm cortimandingly. 

{To he continued.) 

¥he 9pe^ G®upti 



EDWARD C. HEGELER, President. DR. PAUL CARUS, Editor. 

The Open Court is devoted to the work of conciliating Religion with 
Science. The founder and editor have found this conciliation in Monism — to 
present and defend which is the main object of The Open Court. 

The Open Court has for contributors the leading thinkers of Ihe old 
and new world. 

Translations from the most prominent authors of Europe have been pro- 
cured, and efforts are made to present the very best and most advanced thought 
bearing on scientific, religious, social and economic questions. 


All communications should be addressed to 



Contents of No. 29. 

SIS. Professor Calvin Thomas 815 


PHYSIOLOGY. Felix L. Oswald, M. D. Part II. 818 

TER. /. J. G. VoGT. Translated from the German 
by F. W. Morton 830 




Death and May. Louis Belrose, Jr 823 


Children's Theological Sayings. Xenos Clark 824 

The Title " Open Court " and its Propriety. A Monist 824 


Biographies of Words and the Home of the Aryas. F. 

Max MiJLLER 825 

Journal d'un Philosophe. Lucien Arreat 825 


The Lost Manuscript. (Continued.) Gustav Freytag 826 

The Open Court. 


Devoted to the Work of Conciliating Religion with Science. 

No. 30. (Vol. ir— 4.) 


1 Three Dollars per Year. 
1 Single Copies, lo cts. 



A few weeks ago, February 6th, there died, on his 
Wisconsin farm at the age of seventy-six, a man who 
w^as a leader of men in thought, word and deed. In his 
native country, in one of the most stormy phases of old- 
world struggle for religious and political liberty, he 
fearlessly led the van till the last glimpse of hope had 
-vanished and the liberal cause lay prostrate at the mercy 
■of the armies and minions of despotism. In the realm 
of thought as scholar and teacher he worked his upward 
way from the densest fogs of religious superstition, 
through the all too rarified atmosphere of Hegelian 
Intellectualism, to a profound and serene view of nature, 
in which material and mental phenomena are monistic- 
ally and naturalistically conceived as adequate manifes- 
tations of absolute and eternal All-Being. 

Karl Theodor BayrhofFer was in every respect a 
genuine representative of the idealistic striving, known 
as German " Storm and Stress." He was, all in all, an 
intensely animated embodiment of German Philosophy 
and German Humanism. At home his philosophic and 
humanistic hopes had all been wrecked for the time 
being. But when in 1852 he found safety from pros- 
■ecution by landing on the hospitable soil of this free 
■country, he very likely expected philosophical Repub- 
licanism to be here already in full swing. He, no 
■doubt, met with much sympathetic consideration so far 
as his political views and aims were concerned. But 
where were those who would patiently listen to his 
philosophical persuasions and demonstrations? Yet his 
thought was to him the veritable life of his being. To 
him life, not consistently guided by philosophical reason, 
was no human life at all, but mere animal existence. 

With such exalted views, despite all his fervid trust 
in an eventual rational reorganization of political and 
social life, it must have been a weary waiting and 
watching for him these many years to discern actual 
symptoms of his expected era of philosophical enlight- 
enment and its unselfish humanistic rule. Still, in 
truth, much has lately been accomplished here in this 
direction also; if not politically and socially, then at 
least regarding the philosophical contemplation of the 
import of human existence. And these philosophical en- 
deavors have followed mostly German lines of thought. 

Even twenty years ago, who in this country and in 
England would have thought that " German Phil- 
osophy," then almost universally ridiculed as the vaguest 
of vagaries, would come to be taught as highest wisdom 
at our principal seats of learning — that our Christian 
professors of philosophy, driven to extremity by the 
relentless inroads of natural science, would find no 
better shield against " infidelity" than the airy fabric of 
self-sustained concepts conjured into fictitious existence 
by the juggling dialectics of Hegel? Yet so it is. 
Hegelianism has once more become a mighty staying 
power among thinkers in the Christian camp. 

Germans, about the middle of the century, had 
themselves very generally turned away with disgust 
from the grandiloquent a priori speculations of their 
renowned philosophers. These wordy constructions 
had proved prolific of nothing but fantastic dreams 
which had deranged the head of many a promising 
youth. And, moreover, by force of their visionary 
character, they had been the chief cause of the non-suc- 
cess of the liberal political aspirations which had seemed 
so near fulfillment in the revolutionary movement of 
184S. In those stormy days of revolt against misrule 
and oppression, the German parliament was filled with 
Hegelians — Hegelians of the right wing and Hegelians 
of the left wing, arguing with one another whether the 
constitution should or should not be theocratic, until the 
golden opportunity for action was lost. 

During the following reactionary period natural 
science engrossed more and more thoroughly the atten- 
tion of the thoughtful. Eminently successful through 
close adherence to the experimental method, its votaries 
lost completely sight of the " Philosophy of Nature," 
propounded a few years before by Schelling and Oken 
to an enthusiastic audience largely composed of students 
of medicine and natural science. Sober investigators of 
the sensible facts of nature, as this new generation of 
naturalists professed itself to be, it could discern nothing 
within the sphere of veritable existence but units ot 
mass grouped and actuated by physical forces; or, better 
still, grouped and actuated merely by the transmission 
and dissipation of definite quantities of motion or energy. 

But the satisfaction aflforded by this ready mode of 
accounting for things was not destined to last. Nature 
did not altogether admit of being thus algebraically 
emptied of her indwelling wealth. She soon thrust her 



old psycho-physical riddle in the way of her mechanical 
explorers. It was the physiology of the senses worked 
at with all the precision of a physical science which, 
even to the most mechanically inclined, unavoidably 
disclosed the essential dissimilitude obtaining between 
the nature of the physical stimuli affecting the senses 
and that of their stimulated mental or conscious effect. 
Undulations of air or ether were now scientifically rec- 
ognized to be physical occurrences incommensurably 
unlike the sensations of sound or color experienced in 
consequence of their striking our ear or eye. And a 
little further consideration discloses the strange and per- 
plexing fact that the air-waves and ether-undulations, so 
clearly apprehended as physical occurrences, are them- 
selves, nevertheless, only mental representations in terms 
of purely individual sight-perception, of the hidden 
powers that awaken such determinate perceptions in us. 

Thus, natural science, prying according to its own 
method into the secrets of organic life, found itself once 
more brought face to face with the great standing 
enigma of philosophy : how in reality is the microcosm, 
we find figured in our own individual perception, 
related to the macrocosm, subsisting independently of 
this mental realization of ours? 

Scientists, despite their zeal to explain everything in 
keeping with mechanical principles, feel now compelled 
to acknowledge the existence and importance of the 
problem of cognition, which they had managed stead- 
fastly to ignore for awhile. Consequently they have, 
in search of deeper truth, very generally joined the rush 
" back to Kant." And it is chiefly through this scien- 
tifically accredited indispensableness of a theory of cog- 
nition, that Kant has again become the polar-star, by 
which most philosophical ventures of the present time 
are guiding their course. 

Sixty years ago, in the very heyday of German 
philosophical speculation, this same sober and close- 
reasoning Kant became also the guiding-star of a sixteen 
year old youth, the son of a printer in Kurhessen, who, 
one memorable day, happened to get hold of a copy of 
the "Critique of Pure Reason" in his father's little book- 
store. This event determined his further course in life. 
From now on Karl Bayrhoffer was determined to devote 
himself to philosophical research. In 1S34 he took the 
degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the University of 
Marburg; qualified himself soon after for teaching there 
as " Privatdocent," and was in due course appointed Pro- 
fesssor of Philosophy in the same university. 

At that time Hegelianism was paramount in the 
philosophical world of Germany. The master himself 
had recently passed away. But ardent disciples were 
everywhere propagating his system. Unfortunately the 
state in various parts of the country had placed a serious 
obstacle in the way of a harmonious and consistent 
exposition of Panlogism, of which the necessary outcome 

is evidently a pantheistic creed of some sort. Zealous 
ministers of public instruction were, namely, exacting 
from university professors adherence to Christian Doc- 
trines. The puzzle then arose, how to reconcile free 
philosophical thought with a prescribed form of State- 
Religion. Hegel himself, consummately vei'sed in con- 
ceptual world evolution, had found no difficulty what- 
ever in making specifically religious dogmas, such as 
that of the "Trinity," emerge from his self-evolving 
machinery. And most of his disciples felt no compunc- 
tion to follow or to outdo the master in subserviency to 
state-ordinances. But, amongst them , there were some, 
at least, who had the courage openly to draw the most 
daring conclusions involved in their philosophical prem- 
ises. No wonder then, that, in consequence of such 
irreconcilable tendencies, the Hegelian host divided into 
"a right and a left wing;" for so this disruptive move- 
ment into two hostile camps was mildly designated. 
The right wing endeavored to press Hegelianism more 
or less thoroughly into the service of Christianity. The 
left wing broke altogether loose from Christianity, deny- 
ing the personality of the creative power and the possi- 
bility of individual immortality; and freeing itself, at 
last, completely, by force of naturalistic considerations,, 
from the belief that the world is made up of nothing 
but thought or reason. 

The most widely known representatives of this in- 
trepid band of revolutionary philosophers are Feuerbach, 
Strauss and Bauer. But Bayrhoffer, who with them 
joined the left wing — though little known at present — 
is by far the most penetrative and consistent abstract 
thinker of this remarkable free-thought school, whose 
rallying cry was " Nature and Humanity," and whose 
mighty liberating infiuence has spread over all civilized 

The burden of this great free-thought movement 
was eighteenth century liberalism, deepened by the lit- 
erature and science of the German " Aufklaerung," and 
above all by the Kantian philosophy. Bayrhoffer him- 
self says: "Our philosophy, together with its historical 
criticism of creeds and their records, must inevitably 
bring about the overthrow of the realm of religious 
phantasms, the dissolution of the old dualistic concep- 
tions of matter and mind, and end in the triumph of the 
all-harmonizing, monistic world-conception." 

No one will deny that this bold prediction, uttered 
with full confidence by our monistic philosopher, is now 
gaining very much the appearance of a truth in course 
of fulfillment. Have not Feuerbach's " Essence of 
Christianity," Strauss's "Life of Jesus," Bauer's biblical 
criticisms, together with the various attempt? of the left- 
wing dissenters to establish a unitary and naturalistic 
foundation of being for both matter and mind, worked 
already a long way towards its realization? And 
though biblical criticism has been perhaps more imme- 



diately effective than naturalistic monism in freeing the 
popular mind from its grossest superstitions; yet it has 
long been clear to the initiated that the decisive battle 
must range round the relation philosophically conceived 
to subsist betwreen Mind, Matter and Universal Being. 
It will be well-spent time, then, to listen attentively to a 
trained thinker, whose life-work has been the elucida- 
tion of this dark problem. 

Rightly to appreciate how deeply rooted the opinions 
of our old-world revolutionist, philosopher and humani- 
tarian really are, we have to alight for a moment amidst 
the influences that have helped to shape them. For 
radically realistic as his thought may seem in itself, it 
grew nevertheless out of Schellings and Hegel's ideal- 
istic Identity-Philosophy, then in the ascendant in Ger- 
man universities. Himself a professor of philosophy, 
he stood all-awake in the great intellectual stir, whose 
echo in England and America had power to fill such 
(men as Carlyle and Emerson with the life-long desire 
to ingraft its transcendental bent on the culture of their 
native soil. No wonder, then, that the world-conception, 
enunciated after many years of struggle for existence 
from his remote Wisconsin farm, will be found inti- 
mately related to the sundry speculative currents that 
swept the philosophical atmosphere of those palmy days 
of constructive thought. 

Kant had seemingly proved that it is solely the com- 
bining activity of our intellect, which from incoherent 
and shapeless data of sense is building up the orderly 
world we actually know; and that of the verita- 
ble nature of things outside our own perception and 
thought we can know nothing. Still Kant's final and 
emphatic verdict was, that our combining and construct- 
ing intellect can work only on definite material given 
to our sensibility from outside. 

But, the entire world we perceive and know being 
thus — according to Kant himself — constructed exclu- 
sively by our own intellectual activity, why should not 
this all-containing and all-sufficient product of thought 
be itself veritable and sole Being? Those surmised out- 
side data of sense, spaceless, timeless, uncombined and 
unperceived, what can they be but an unimaginable dust 
of non-entities. And the world of things-in-themselves, 
invented to account for such fancied motes of pure sense- 
afTection, must be likewise an idle fiction. There is, 
and need be, nothing in existence save intellectual activ- 
ity, constituting our Ego and the entire content of its 
consciousness. Intellectual activity is therefore itself 
the creative power, identical with its creation, and hence 
sole and veritable Being. 

Such, indeed, was the main conclusion arrived at by 
Fichte, through consistent development of Kant's as- 
sumption of a free intelligible Ego and its nature — con- 
stituting thought. And this ojatright assertion of the 
thorough identity of Thought and Being — a doctrine 

established solely by means of ratiocinative introspec- 
tion, working exclusively upon the ideal content of con- 
sciousness — became the leading principle of the so-called 
Identity-Philosophy, further elaborated by Schelling 
and Hegel. 

Bayrhoffer adhered to the last to Schelling's version 
of it; at least to his fundamental conception of Trans- 
cendental Realism, or "Real-Idealism," as it is gen- 
erally called. Schelling, namely, amplified Fichte's 
view by maintaining that, in order that the self-thinking 
Ego may at all come to know, there must exist some- 
thing to be known. Consequently, he postulated as 
ground of all existence, not an absolute Subject merely, 
but an absolute Subject- Object. The All, which Spinoza 
had contemplated as absolute Substance, he conceived as 
absolute World-Ego, in whose activity subject and ob- 
ject, spirit and nature, the ideal and the real are at every 
stage of manifestation^identically interblended, in a sim- 
ilar way as we find them in our own individual percep- 
tion and conception. 

Bayrhoffer's naturalistic and hylozoistic Monism is 
— as will be seen further on — grounded on this concep- 
tion of the substantial identity of the ideal and the real 
in every phase of sense-apparent existence and evolu- 
tion, by which the eternal activity of All-Being becomes 
manifest to us. The subjective and the objective, inner 
and outer existence, thought and being, mind and nature, 
are to him in essence identical. And for this never- 
shaken view of his he will presently give us very cogent 

From Hegel's Panlogism, which has become so se- 
ductive again to university-men of the present genera- 
tion, and to which Bayrhoffer in his early career had 
completely given himself up, he freed himself chiefly 
by the aid of Herbart's incisive criticism of the concept 
of pure Being, which emptied hull of reality, is made by 
Hegel to serve as foundation of his entire world-com- 
prising air-castle.* To those whose thinking does not 
happen to be caught and held in the magic circle of 
philosophical consistency, it will seem more than puerile 
to find it seriously enunciated as a newly-discovered 
truth, that Being does not consist of pure intellectual 
activity; that sensible things — mountains, for instance — 
remain still in existence even when not perceived or 
thought of. Yet it is a fact that the insistence, on the 
part of Herbart, on this truth — so self-evident to com- 
mon sense — had power to bring many a Hegelian back 
to his senses; /. e., back from the bottomless abyss of 
abstract thought to the actual world of sensible experi- 

Of all philosophers of the post-Kantian period, Her- 
bart exerted the most wholesome sobering influence on 

* From 1S35 to 1S49, in his Hegelian period, and during liis transition from 
Identity-Philosophy Pantheism to Naturalistic Monism, Bayrhoffer published 
a number of works whose titles, dates and place of publication will hf^ found 
cited in "Meyer's Konversations-Lexikon." 



the wild, speculative mood of the conceptual world-con- 
structors, and Bayrhoffer gratefully acknowledges his 
indebtedness to him in this and other respects. 

Herbart, then, declined to adopt Fichte's funda- 
mental idea that the world is altogether a creation of 
the productive imagination of the Ego. Nor did he 
adhere to Schelling's teaching, that the constitution and 
meaning of nature may be discovered by watching the 
objective side of the content of thought, as it is welling 
up into individual consciousness from the depths of 
Being. He, trusting to sense-conveyed experience, ac- 
cepted Kant's doctrine of things-in-themselves; the doc- 
trine, namely, that external powers are affecting our 
sensibility and compelling from outside the specific con- 
tent of our definite percepts. But Herbart did not with 
Kant declare these external powers to be wholly un- 
knowable. On the contrary, he very rationally con- 
cluded that the changing relatioris between the different 
elements of our percepts must have their cause in de- 
terminations appertaining to that which is indefeasibly 
given to us from outside, and the changing appearances 
of which may therefore be apprehended by our thought 
as specific manifestations of veritable reality. 

Bayrhoffer's naturalistic bent inclined him to follow 
in his questionings of nature much more closely Her- 
bart's method of sensible intuition, than Schelling's 
method of intellectual intuition. Yet his philosophy 
remained, as already stated, Identity-Philosophy to the 
end ; for material phenomena and mental phenomena he 
both conceived as equally and primordially grounded in 
absolute Being; material phenomena or compelled per- 
cepts representing sundry results of the eternal interac- 
tion between the elements of such Being, as they appear 
consciously reflected within those specific parts of itself 
called animal brains; and mental phenomena, at large, 
being simply the entire range of such reflected interac- 
tions in the same organized medium. All this will sound, 
at present, very enigmatical to the uninitiated, but will 
be better understood when we come to develop our 
philosopher's ideas of the nature of matter and mind. 

Another consideration was urged by Herbart in 
opposition to the constitution of Being by pure mental 
activity; a consideration which may now again prove 
opportune, if applied to themselves by those philoso- 
pher's of various schools, who are renewing the attempt 
to dissolve all Being into pure relativity; into the mental 
apprehension of nothing but conceptual relations in the 
transcendental camp; and into mere states of interactivity 
in the naturalistic camp. 

Herbart reminded the philosophical world that all 
determinations of an existent, which reveal themselves 
only in connection with other existents, such as motion, 
distance, in fact all sensible positions and changes of 
things, can be merely phenomena of relation, not facts 
appertaining to the essence of absolute Being. 

These anti-Hegelian hints of Herbart were never 
forgotten by our Wisconsin philosopher, and it will 
presently be seen how he made use of them in his 
dynamical construction of reality. For his profound 
interpretation of sense and thought-revealed nature con- 
stitutes a system of naturalistic Monism, in which the 
material world results from the play of dynamical 
powers; not from pure intellectual activity, nor from 
inert atoms knocked about by motion imparted to them 
from outside. And in this connection it is incumbent on 
us to remark, that it was also from Herbart that 
Bayrhoffer took up not only his dynamical, but also his 
monadistic view; the view, namely, that the phenomena 
of nature arise by force of powers intrinsically belonging 
to a multitude of discrete elements, constituting absolute 
Being; and not, as taught by the mechanical interpre- 
tation of nature, through mere changes of relation in 
time and space, imposed from outside upon atomic ele- 
ments, that are themselves intrinsically passive and 

Having now sufficiently, though really only very 
cursorily, analyzed the philosophical pabulum, from 
which the thinking of our true, fearless and enthusiastic 
philosopher drew its principal nourishment during the 
time of its growth, we will try in a following article to 
give a concise exposition of his own well-matured ideas. 



The Open Court having been established with 
the main purpose in view of discussing the relationship 
of religion and science, and, if possible, of effecting a 
satisfactory reconciliation between them; and as various 
articles have already appeared on the constructive side 
of the question, and none, so far as I know, on the de- 
structive or critical side, a few words framed in the lat- 
ter mood, in the way of objections to some positions al- 
ready advanced, may possibly not be altogether an un- 
welcome reading. An article conceived in the latter 
spirit, if it accomplished nothing else, might, at least, help 
to relieve the uniformity or monotony of the discussion. 

And since reading Mr. Hegeler's article in No. 25 of 
this journal, welcoming opposition, I more confidently 
offer my contribution. 

In various numbers of The Open Court, particu- 
larly Nos. 13, 15, 24 and 25, it has been laid down as an 
accepted scientific conclusion that there is no antagonism 
between science and religion; nay, that the latter is a 
necessary and inseparable adjunct of the former. To 
this proposition I am constrained to take exception. 
The result of a somewhat close study of this question 
during the last twenty years forces upon me a different 

Dr. Carus in his article on Religion and Science 
(No. 15, Open Court) apparently would have us be- 



lieve (by implication at least) that prior to the time of 
the scholastics of the Middle Ages religion and science 
were not antagonistic. The notorious fact, however, is 
that wherever and whenever, in the world's history, 
there arose a science distinctively formulated, it invari- 
ably and inevitably clashed with religion. Each has 
occupied a sphere of its own. And the advocates of 
each, up to the present century, with one or two excep- 
tions, have been perfectly satisfied with the opposition, 
and, what is more, coveted no reconciliation. 

This fact is nowhere more apparent than in the 
early history of the Christian religion. Throughout 
the writings of Paul the opposition is emphasized by 
such marked contrasts as, Christ and Belial; light and 
darkness; the spirit and the flesh; kingdom of God and 
kingdom of the world. To Paul science was simply 
foolishness and sin in the sight of God. And precisely 
the same it was to Tertullian, Jerome and Augustine 
and the majority if not all of the Christian Fathers. 
All their science was contained in the revealed word : 
all other teaching that did not harmonize with it was 
simply of the devil and therefore false. 

Dr. Carus' statement, therefore, that the separation 
of science and religion originated with the scholastics of 
the Middle Ages, is at variance with historic facts. It 
would be much nearer the truth to state just the reverse, 
that with the scholastics originated the idea of recon- 
ciling the two. And indeed that is the simple fact. 

Scholasticism was a Christian philosophy, called into 
being with the avowed object of conciliating dogma and 
thought, faith and reason, religion and. science. And 
the way whereby it sought to realize its aim was by 
rationalizing the dogma, so as to harmonize it with rea- 
son and fact. 

Scholasticism rested upon, at least, two presupposi- 
tions: first that the creed of the church was absolutely 
true, and second, that a union between reason and faith 
or religion and science was possible, nay necessary : for 
the simple reason that truth must be uniform: the same 
thing cannot be and not be at the same time. 

If the conclusions of science conflicted with the doc- 
trine of the church, it was the duty of philosophy to ex- 
pand or contract it, so as to reduce it into concord with 
the scientific fact. If, however, finally harmony was 
not secured, this was a clear proof, not that the two fac- 
tors were irreconcilable, but that the alleged scientific 
fact was false. All true science agreed or could be 
fnade to agree with the dogma. 

Thus the reconciliation of reason and faith, brought 
about by scholasticism, was not real, but apparent: it 
was obtained by doing violence to the terms it sought 
to reconcile; by depriving one of them of its real and 
independent existence. Virtually, science was compre- 
hended under, or merged in, theology. As soon as sci- 
ence began to assert its independence, and claim, at least. 

equal authority with theology, the fictitious character of 
the alleged union manifested itself. And forthwith the 
breach between the two became marked and decisive. 
Each began to assume toward the other a defiant front, 
tempered only by a love of peace. Hence a compromise 
was acquiesced in — a truce agreed upon. And this vir- 
tual compact was expressed in the formula: True to 
science, but false to theology ; or vice versa. 

Having won a right to an equal authority with re- 
ligion, and emboldened by that success, science was not 
long before it attempted another conquest. It now 
claimed for itself the sole authority over the entire realm 
of knowledge, and treated its antagonist as a mere 
usurper. This characteristically marks the epoch, the 
character and the attitude of modern science. 

The separation between science and religion was not 
brought about intentionally by scholasticism, as Dr. Ca- 
rus claimed, but was accomplished in spite of it: it was 
due to the rise of science and the fall of scholasticism. 

What is especially worthy of note here in connection 
with this abortive attempt at reconciling religion and 
science is the fact that it is the exact prototype of all subse- 
quent like attempts; and that of Dr. Carus among them. 

All methods of harmony followed ever since, like 
their forerunner in the middle ages, rest upon a presup- 
position or presuppositions, as a basis; they assume, at 
least, that a reconciliation is possible and desirable, nay, 
according to Dr. Carus, likewise necessary. The only 
ground, however, for this assumption, so far as I am 
able to discover in the articles above referred to, is to be 
found in another assumption, the statement that " religion 
is an ultimate fact of human nature." But whose human 
nature? I would ask, and human nature at what stage of 
development? Human nature is a very elastic expres- 
sion. It covers a vast amount of heterogeneous ele- 
ments and capacities. There is an immense difference 
between the nature of a savage or semi-civilized, or even 
of a civilized man, and that of the highly developed man 
of culture. What suits or satisfies the nature of a child 
or that of a savage is unsuitable and unsatisfactory to a 
man who has reached a higher state of development. 
The doings and requirements, therefore, of the "human 
nature" of a savage, a child, or indeed of the ordinary 
civilized man are no criterion whereby to judge of the 
needs and activities of the " human nature" of a Strauss, 
a Kant, a Feuerbach, a Grote, a Bain or of a Mill. 
These men and thousands of others like them have out- 
grown the need of religion. There is no void in their 
human nature which religion can fill. Their nature de- 
mands different nutriment from that of the savage, the 
semi-civilized or even that of the ordinary man of civili- 
zation. The argument, therefore, based upon the above 
assumption must fall to the ground, as the assumption 
itself implies a fallacy : the fallacy lurking in the am- 
biguity of the expression, "human nature." 



The method of procedure adopted by Scholasticism 
in effecting a reconciliation, consisted in suppressing one 
of the terms or in tampering with its meaning. Science 
had no real standing except within the domain of reli- 
gion. Precisely the like tactics have been adopted by 
later harmonists, with a difference only in the term sup- 
pressed. It is now generally religion that has to under- 
go a limitation and has its meaning tampered with> 
while science is exalted to the former's position in the 
middle ages. The authority of science is supreme and 
absolute, that of poor religion is nill. She is simply the 
humble ancilla (maid servant). Whatever existence is 
permitted it, is only in name and not in fact. So the 
problem of reconciling science and religion becomes 
easy enough. In fact there is nothing to reconcile, for 
there is but one term left. 

That, to my thinking, is just the issue that is pre- 
sented to us in the columns of The Open Court. Dr. 
Carus defines religion as man's consciousness of his rela- 
tion to the All (Open Court, No. 24). But this im- 
plies nothing more than an intellectual act or process. 
And the result is a mere acquisition of knowledge. 
Where, then, is the difference between religion and 
science? The definition might be a correct definition of 
philosophy or metaphysics, but not of religion ; certainly 
not of religion such as we have known in our own ex- 
perience as well as the collected experience of the past, 
as expressed in tradition and literature. And this is the 
only idea the world is interested in, and the only idea it 
wants to see reconciled to science; or if a reconciliation 
is not feasible, to have it so understood. 

In Dr. Carus' scheme this essential idea, the idea for 
which the word religion is the symbol, the idea which 
has been palpable before the world, and remained fixed 
in the speech and literature of civilized and semi-civil- 
ized nations for several thousands of years, under what- 
ever name symbolized; this idea in Dr. Carus' har- 
mony is ignored or rather utterly eradicated, and an- 
other is quietly substituted in its stead, to which he 
labels the old familiar symbolic epithet — religion; and 
then proceeds to show that this latter is not antagonistic 
to science. As a result he gives us a solution of a dif- 
ferent problem from the one he had undertaken to solve. 

Religion, doubtless, has ever rested on an intellect- 
ual basis — a belief or a knowledge, true or false. But 
the object of such a belief or knowledge has invariably 
been of a definite and uniform character. It has pos- 
sessed attributes in which mankind have vital interest, 
and of which the simply vague term, " The All," is 
wholly destitute. This object has been, at least, an in- 
telligence, supreme, yet analogous to the human, a per- 
sonality other than the world, possessing a will and pow- 
er to put it in execution in the control of human destiny. 

In addition to this intellectual act or belief, there is 
also present in all religion another factor, namely, the 

effect of this conviction in man's feelings and conduct, 
manifesting itself in an emotion, such as awe, fear, rev- 
erence, love, dependence, accompanied generally with 
acts or exercises calculated to give due expression to 
such feelings. 

Whatever else the word religion or its equivalent in 
other languages may connote, the two factors just men- 
tioned are necessarily and inseparably connected with it. 
And in confirmation of this I simply appeal to the unso- 
phisticated beliefs and opinions of mankind of all nations, 
during the last three or four thousand years, as these are 
recorded in literature of those nations. 

These two features, I repeat, are inseparably bound 
up with the idea of religion. And if you deprive the 
word of this its essential and unalterable content — 
content which it has borne for thousands of years, and 
by which it has been known to minds of all degrees of 
culture; to believers and skeptics, devotional men and 
worldlings; to the philosopher and the man of science 
in the same way as to the theologian and the untrained 
thinker; if you now take out of the word that content, 
you will inevitably and necessarily destroy the fact 
itself. You will utterly banish religion from the world, 
and there will be nothing behind except the bare symbol, 
or the symbol with a new signification; which is not new 
either, for it is a content borrowed from another word — 
philosophy or metaphysics. 

The word religion is no more susceptible of having 
its meaning tampered with, without losing its essential 
nature, than are other words of cognate signification, 
such as loyalty, awe, reverence, faithfulness, trust, belief, 
fear, hope, virtue, obedience, etc. 

The conception of growth or progress, except in the 
degree of the emotion, is also altogether alien to ideas 
connoted by these words. And the word religion 
partakes of exactly like fixedness; notwithstanding Max 
Midler's contention to the contrary. 

Religion conveyed precisely the same notion to 
Moses, Isaiah, Paul and the Christian Fathers, as it does 
to-day to Leo XIII., the archbishop of Canterbury and 
De Witt Talmage. The meaning attached to it in the 
minds of Jewish rabbis, Egyptian priests, Indian the- 
osophists and Mohammedan fanatics, was accepted with- 
out question by the irreligious, the skeptic and the scoffer, 
as well as by the philosopher and the scholar. Religion 
to Lucretius, Celsus and Lucian, was the same as it was 
to Cicero, St. Augustine and Marcus Aurelius. What 
it signified to Calvin and Luther, the same it did also to 
Voltaire and Paine. It is only within the present century, 
and especially the latter half of it, that diversity of opin- 
ions has been entertained as to its true character, and that 
chiefly among metaphysicians and minds imbued with 
liberal thought. And this in itself is a significant fact. 
It is sufficient to arouse distrust as regards the motive 
which impels the compromisers to examine anew the 



ground of religion and seek for it some other foundation 
in human consciousness than the old one — some position 
which science cannot undermine. It is a similar motive 
that in the middle ages prompted the advocates of science 
to compromise with the theologians for the sake of 
peace. Now it is the religionist that desires to compro- 
mise. In each instance it 'is the weaker party that hoists 
up the flag of truce. But in resorting to a compromise 
the religionist is constrained to surrender all that really 
constituted religion — all save the name. 

The truth is that a reconciliation of religion with the 
prevailing scientific conception of the world is impos- 
sible, for religion has been founded on Dualism; it pos- 
tulates an anthropomorphic god as the first and indis- 
pensable condition of its existence. No other conception 
will be of any avail. No other conception of a God 
will prove capable of supporting a religion. No vague 
somethings or nothings will answer the purpose. The 
Unknowable, the Thing in Itself, the Infinite, the 
Unity in Difference, the All, the Great Being of 
Humanity, each and all fall short of the requisite 
potency to give meaning and life to religion. None of 
these are capable of constituting a God such as the relig- 
ious instinct demands. 

A God set up with either of these entities stands in 
just as much chance of becoming an object of religious 
zeal or aspiration as the law of gravitation or the fourth 
dimension does. People would be as likely to wor- 
ship, fear, love or reverence " The All " or the Unknow- 
able or even the Great Being of Humanity as they 
would a tom-cat or an Egyptian mummy. No con- 
ception, I repeat, except the anthropomorphic, affords a 
sufficient ground for religion. Banish dualism from 
your head and religion will necessarily vacate the heart. 


The criticism by D. Theophilus,* published in the 
present number of The Open Court, was very wel- 
come because it comes from an able pen. The article, 
as we learn from the accompanying letter, is written by 
a man who studied theology and is well versed in theo- 
logical questions. He does not side with religion but 
<ienounces it as superstition. His criticism, I believe, is 
valuable, and it deserves publication and our full atten- 
tion, as it states the opinions of a large number of free 
thinkers; and many of our readers, I do not doubt, will 
find therein a fair and scholarly expression of their views. 

Before I enter into a discussion of the subject let me 
mention that years ago I cherished exactly the same 
opinion as Theophilus. As a child I had been a faith- 
ful believer in Christianity, the dogmas of which I had 
been taught to consider as absolute truths. When my 
faith in these dogmas was shaken, I was almost on the 
verge of despair. The purpose and aim, the content 

*For all I know the name may be a pseudonym. 

and the value of my aspirations were lost. AH was 
desolation and my life empty. In this period of my life 
I identified Christianity and superstition, faith and cred- 
ulity, religion and dualism. It was not until I had, 
through many experiences, advanced on the thorny 
path of inquiry and thought, that I regained the equi- 
poise to judge justly of religion and to learn that the 
errors through which I had passed were everywhere 
common experiences in the lives of individuals and in the 
developme;it of nations. I found that there was some 
truth hidden in the old superstitions, and accordingly 
that a wrong interpretation of religion does not justify 
us in discarding religion altogether. 

When I lived in Germany I once had the pleasure of 
being received by a Buddhist high priest, who was sent 
by the government of Japan to study European relig- 
ions. He had read two of my publications, which per- 
haps might have been and indeed were denounced by 
orthodox minds as irreligious. He considered them 
worthy of his notice for the sake of religion. 

My conversation with this venerable and learned 
man, who came from a country to which we send mis- 
sionaries, gave me much food for thought. He was not 
hampered by any creed; his Buddhism does not pre- 
scribe any dogma to be believed in. He was well read 
in the philosophy of Plato and of Kant. At least he 
referred to their idealistic doctrines in a way which 
proved that he knew of what he was speaking. He 
said: " Our difficulty in Japan is to educate a clergy 
who can be the teachers and advisers of the people, who 
can assist them in their troubles, comfort them in afflic- 
tions and miseries, and elevate their minds when they 
are happy and prosperous." 

There are moments in life when not only the uned- 
ucated but also, and perhaps even in a higher degree, 
the more educated classes need the spiritual support 
of a fatherly friend. Of such moments there may be 
mentioned as the most prominent, the entrance of a 
child into life, marriage and the last honors to the dead. 
The actions of every individual have a definite reference 
to the healthy life and growth of the commuhity and of 
humanity in general. The individual should know it 
and must be conscious of it. Therefore those actions of 
ours in which this our relation to a greater whole is un- 
usually marked and noticeable, must be sanctified so as 
to remind us of their importance. We need appropriate 
forms for these actions and cannot dispense with them. 
These forms, however, should harmonize with the civil- 
ization of to-day and be free from dogmatism and super- 
stitious notions. 

If a man like this Buddhist high priest comes to 
us to study the religious problem shall we tell him: 
Religion is simply superstition. Go home and abolish 
religion altogether. By doing so you Japanese will be 
far ahead of us. 



The leading mistake of Theophilus is that he criti- 
cizes religion as he defines it, not as it is defined in The 
Open Court. He defines religion as a belief in a 
supernatural deity and declares that it is founded on 
dualism. But how can religion be identified with the 
belief in a supernatural deity, since Buddhism, whose 
adherents are the most numerous on earth, is an athe- 
istic religion? 

If scholasticism failed in its endeavors to reconcile re- 
ligion and science this failure does not prove that the two 
factors are irreconcilable. It proves that the method of 
the schoolmen was wrong. They indeed never tried to 
reconcile religion and science, but the dogmatism of the 
church and the dogmatism of Aristotelean philosophy. 
Neither should the former be identified with religion 
nor the latter with science. 

In a certain sense it is true that ' Religion conveyed 
precisely the same notion to Moses, Isaiah, Paul and the 
Christian Fathers as it does to-day to Leo. XIII.' And 
in a certain sense also science conveys precisely the same 
notion to Aristotle, Ptolemy and Kepler as it does to-day 
to our scientists. The religious spirit and the scientific 
spirit remain, or at least should remain, the same, 
although the meaning of words and their definitions 
change until after a longer or shorter process of evolu- 
tion, when a certain stage of maturity is reached they 
perhaps become fixed for all times. 

The objections made by Theophilus appear to me 
as if someone were criticizing modern psychology, who 
defined psychology as an inquiry into the properties and 
substance of the soul. Then the critic, being averse to 
dualism, declares that the soul does not exist independ- 
ent of the body, that soul-substance and soul-properties 
are superstitious notions, e/-go, all psychology is based 
on error and has no title to existence. The truth is that 
the old dualistic interpretation of the functions of the 
soul are erroneous; all the psychological terms and even 
the definition of psychology itself, as stated by the old 
school, are now proven to be fundamentally false. All 
this conceded, is any critic justified in saying that psy- 
chology is a superstition? 

During the last few centuries all the sciences have 
been revolutionized by new discoveries, just as our civ- 
ilization has been modified by the many inventions 
made in all branches of life and labor. It is but natural 
that religion also should be revolutionized and based upon 
other principles than heretofore. This will be accom- 
plished whether we champion or oppose the new view 
of religion, for it is the outcome of an evolutionary pro- 
cess in the growth and development of mankind. 

The fact is well-established and yet little appreciated 
that science has just as well its orthodoxy as religion. 
Science in former centuries was just as dualistic as relig- 
ion. And the history of civilization is the slow process 
by which man frees himself from superstition. Super- 

stition is not necessarily a religious^error.QBy far the 
most numerous superstitions are scientific superstitions. 
Superstition is the assumption of an error as if it were 
an axiomatic truth; and one of the most important 
causes of superstition is the dualism of former centuries. 
Those who cherished their superstition as absolute 
truth assumed the name orthodox, viz., the men whose 
view is correct. They denounced the heterodox as rev- 
olutionists who destroyed science as well as religion. 

Copernicus, Kepler, Gallileo and other great scien- 
tists were to the scientists of their era heterodox, just as 
Luther was denounced as a heretic and infidel by the 
church. Socrates was executed because he was said to 
be irreligious, and Christ was crucified for blasphemy. 

If to-day a scientist would try to establish a new — 
although correct — explanation of certain natural phe- 
nomena, which appeared to be contrary to the present 
views of his colleagues, it is certain that his theory would 
for a long time be rejected and ridiculed. La Marck 
and Darwin have experienced the truth of this fact. 
Only by great efforts did they and their followers over- 
come the old superstition of the orthodox pharisees of 

The superstition of former ages, the erroneous dual- 
ism which boasted so much of its infallible orthodoxy, 
was not only an attribute of the religion of the middle 
ages but also of its philosophy and science. It is but a 
few decades since physiology got rid of the dualistic 
view of a life-principle, or vital power. Even to-day 
our chemists speak of organic and inorganic chemistry, 
as if two different kinds of elements existed, the living 
and the dead. This view and its whole terminology 
are but scientific superstitions. 

It is not the place here to point out why the path to 
truth necessarily leads through errors. Nor can we 
here explain at length how the errors of old — far from be- 
ing absolute errors- — were the germs of truth. They con- 
tained golden grains of truth, and the faithful enquirer 
winnowed them until the grain was separated from the 
chafF. Thus Copernicus and Kepler were guided in their 
great discoveries by the old superstitious notions of the 
Pythagorean philosophy. They believed a priori in 
the harmony of the spheres. 

Also another fact can only be hinted at: Humanity 
does not consist of single individuals but forms one 
great unity. The single individual is merely the repre- 
sentative of the ideas of his age, which are the results of 
a long process of evolution. This will easily explain 
why certain ages bear a certain uniform character. 

There are, no doubt, exceptions. Some men are 
greatly in advance of their times and some lag behind. 
But such exceptions confute our argument as little 
as cases of atavism overthrow the theory of evolution. 

I argued with many different persons upon the 
topics of religion and science, and found that apart from 



a difference of definitions, fundamentally they held 
almost the same opinions. The atheist and the monotheist 
have different definitions of God. The former rejects, 
the latter accepts, the idea of God, but de facto both agree 
much more than they are themselves aware of. The 
Roman Catholic priest of to-day and Robert IngersoU 
are more alike in \.h.e\r philosophical views than is gen- 
erally supposed, but we must eliminate the differences of 
their terminology and translate the language of the one 
into that of the other. A free-thinker of to-day differs 
much more from a free-thinker of media2va! times than 
from an orthodox believer of to-day ; and a Lutheran cler- 
gyman differs in the same degree from Luther himself. 
What Lutheran clergyman would throw his inkstand at 
the devil or order a misformed babe to be drowned, because 
it may perhaps be a changeling ? What Calvinist of to-day 
would burn a man who hadapeculiar idea of the Trinity of 
God. The shortcomings of religious men are not errors 
of religion; just as the ;^?zz^ vitce was not an error of 
science. Errors and superstitions are errors of men and 
of their times, and our own time has likewise its full 
share of them. The scientific and the religious spirit is 
constantly endeavoring to free humanity from its many 

Taking this ground, I fail to see why religion should 
be identified with the errors of the past and science 
credited with all the great ideals of the future. Why shall 
not religion just as well as science be freed from the 
shackles of superstition? Absolute truth never existed 
either in religion or in science. Scientific definitions and 
religious dogmas have changed from century to cen- 
tury, but the religious spirit and scientific spirit remained 
the same. The scientific spirit is characterized .by a 
pure love of truth, and true religiosity means man's 
consciousness of being in unity with the whole Cosmos 
— whether it is called the All or God, Brahma or Nir- 
vana or even Nought. The religious sentiment is a 
powerful factor in every human being. It prompts us 
to live in accordance with what we call ethics, and by it 
our ethical instincts must be explained. The profes- 
sedly irreligious possess this religiosity sometimes 
stronger than those who profess a certain religion. Call 
it other than religion, if you please, but the rose would be 
a rose with any other name. In this sense Schiller said : 
" Which religion I have? There is none of all jou may mention 
That I embrace; and the cause? Truly, religion it is!" 

The religious spirit and the scientific spirit are so 
much in harmony that one cannot exist without the 
other. All the prominent men of science were sincerely 
religious — they were not orthodox ; how could they be 
so narrow-minded if they were to be the representatives 
of progress ? They were intoxicated, as it were, with 
their zeal for truth. They felt that the heart-blood of 
human progress was throbbing in their veins. A greater 
power than themselves had taken possession of them. 

They were conscious of working and suffering for a great 
cause, in comparison to which their individual loss and 
anxieties were but fleeting trifles. The same can be said 
of great artists. Such sentiment is the true religious- 
spirit of which Goethe speaks : 

Wer Wissenschaft und Kunst besltzt, 

Dey hat atick Religion. 

Wer aber beide nicht besiizt, 

Der habe Religion. 

The man who science has and art, 

He also has religion. 

But he who is devoid of both. 

He surely needs religion. 
And this leads us to another point. Science is the 
privilege of the few, but religion may be had by the 
masses. Not everybody can be a scientist, but every- 
body can be and should be imbued with the true religious 
sentiment. Religion is not a deep philosophy, it does 
not take the profound learning of a scholar to recognize 
that the individual is but a part of a greater whole. 
Every child can know that; and every child should 
know it, not by being taught so at school, but by seeing 
its parents act accordingly. 

A true scientist and a great artist conceive that all 
natural phenomena are but so many instances of the 
IIAN KAI 'EN. Nature is one and the same every where^ 
Science and art are based upon this truth. Accordingly,, 
every true scientific man, every great artist must eo ipsa 
be possessed of the right religious spirit. However^ 
those who cannot intellectually grasp this truth, must 
needs be religious or they will sink below the level of 
the savage and the brute. 

What we want is religion for the masses ; not ortho- 
doxy to make them bow down and worship idols, but a 
religion that makes the individual feel himself the repre- 
sentative of a higher power, of his community, of his 
nation, of humanity'. A nation in which the masses are 
religious in this sense will be truly republican, for every 
citizen will be a representative of the sovereignty of the 
nation — of the sovereignty with all its prerogatives as- 
well as its obligations. 




In our village there lived a bad man, an informer. 
As we Arabians are governed by strangersf and as we 
hold, not always with justice, incidents occur in our com- 
munities which, we think, we have good reason to con- 
ceal from the government. To discover such secrets 
and betray them for pay to the authorities was the work 
of the informer. If he succeeded, (which was but too 
often the case,) imprisonments, fines and still heavier 

* Translated from the Arabian, 
t The Turks. (The Translator.) 



punishments followed, and grief and sorrow reigned all 
through the community. 

But the informer was overtaken by a disease which 
proved fatal. Shortly, however, before he died he sent 
for the principal citizens and spoke to them thus: "I 
have sinned against God and against you all my life 
long and you now see me repentant and contrite. The 
AUmerciful will forgive me, poor, repentant sinner — 
for His grace is infinite. But I fear I have trans- 
gressed too much to expect forgiveness from men. 
Grant me, however, I pray you, one request! When 
you carry me to my last resting-place lay a stone on my 
iDier. This stone will be the emblem of the heavy load 
with which remorse, in the hour of death, burdens my 
heart. Perhaps some one who has sighed under the 
burden of remorse himself will take pity on him who 
lies stretched under the stone and will not curse his 

The principal citizens promised the dying man to 
fulfill his last wish and on the following day a bier, cov- 
ered with a pall on which lay a heavy stone, was slowly 
carried through the streets. As is customary in such 
<;ases whenever a funeral passed, everyone left his occu- 
pation instantly, closed his shop and house-door and fol- 
lowed the procession. Again, as is customary, solemn 
stillness and silent mourning reigned everywhere. Had 
not the man now lying in his coffin done much injury 
to almost all who followed him to his grave? Where 
was the hate, the contempt for the informer, the terrible 
scourge of the community? There lay the stone on the 
pall and not one had an evil word, an evil thought for 
the man lying underneath. 

But when the procession approached the burial- 
ground a wild cry: " Profanation of the dead!" rang 
through the air and in an instant they were surrounded 
by fierce Turkish mercenaries. " They want to revenge 
themselves on the dead !" shouted the hirelings; " on our 
friend who used to reveal their tricks to us! The dogs!" 
and they carried off the principal citizens to prison. 

Again a sea of troubles rushed on the poor village. 

The sinner had repented; he was dead; his sins 
were forgiven by God and men; but the consequences 
■of sin remained. 

A great light glowing into life, 

A great warmth conquering in the breast, 
A great joy drowning care and strife, 

A great pang shading into rest. 

And what is this that doth remain, 
Large, sweet, and luminous and sure? 

A joy by joy begot through pain, — 

Through pain immortal made, and pure. 



To the Editor: Ithaca, N. Y. 

Sir, at the close of an editorial in Open Court', No. 26, on 
" The Life and Growth of Ideas," occur these words : " When we 
are gone, the ideas remain. We die, but our better self, our ideas, 
can be immortal." 

I think it is the teaching — now generally accepted — of the 
wise ones, that this globe which we inhabit is constantly, though 
slowly, losing its heat and moisture; and that there is coming a 
time, measurable by years, when from this cause all life upon its 
surface must cease, and the earth become as tenantless as it was 
at its beginning. Now, if this opinion of the wise is well founded, 
how can our ideas be immortal, or have any but a comparatively 
brief existence.' Very truly, S. Brewer. 

[The cell, which constitutes an almost infinitely small part 
of our body, dies away; but biology teaches that it lives in its 
filial cells. It has not lived in vain. For instance, the liver cell 
(as Professor Hering informs us in his essay, Nos. 22 and 23 of 
The Open Court) has acquired from its ancestors, from liver 
cells, the specific energies of their function, and transmits these 
energies to its descendants. If the cell dies, its structure, as it is 
produced by and has been adapted for a special function, is 
preserved. And this structure, this special form, is the cell and 
not the constantly changing material elements which constitute 
it in a certain moment. Granting this, you may say : That is no 
immortality, for the body of which the cell is a part will die, and 
thus after all the cell will have only " a comparatively brief 
existence." Certainly this immortality is not so much an abso- 
lute negation of mortality as a positive continuance after death. 

What is true of the cell is true of man. The individual dies, 
but he persists in his children, he lives in his works and will con- 
tinue to exist in humanity. 

You accept this, but you declare that this world will also pass 
away. However, you should bear in mind that our world may 
exist for many millions of years and we may be sure that the 
human race has not as yet attained to full maturity. The im- 
measurable ages before us appear almost as an eternity. And to 
ponder on the persistence of life and its forms after the destruc- 
tion of this world, seems to me the same as if a child worried about 
the fate of his grandchildren. But although we cannot form any 
definite idea concerning the final fate of our planet, we may be 
sure that the earth has a similar immortality, as has the cell in 
the individual, and the individual in the race. 

There is no death in the old sense of the word, as there is no 
birth in the sense of a creative beginning. Both are transitions, 
both are changes of form. If there is death, we are constantly 
dying and constantly new-born, for, then, death is life. Editor.] 

* Selected from Poems by Da-vid Atwood Wasson. Boston: Lee & Shep- 
ard; 1S88. 


To the Editor: New York, March 10, iSSS. 

Under the caption of "National Taxation," Anti-monopolist 
has made a clear demonstration of the injustice of tariff' taxes, but 
whatever merit his negative position has is marred by his attempt 
to construct a tax in place of the one displaced. 

Why did he spoil his article by any such proposition as " indi- 
vidual income tax".' 

He disposes of the justness of this tax in a few lines; as if it 
was self-evident: 

"A man with a larger net income claims and enjoys the pro- 
tection of the government for it to a larger extent than a man 
with a smaller net income." 

This was all — or all at least that I could discern — advanced in 
justification of the tax. 



His supposition is that tlie national government is a watcli- 
•dog for property, and yet he says further on: 

"There are those who say that a national income-tax would 
•cause a good deal of perjury in this country. 

" Yet it is i/ie American tax that, if permanently established, 
would soon render the American people 'truthful' as to its pay- 
ment. The truthfulness of a free nation can be affected only by 
■erroneous legislation, in favor of classes of the people, but never by 
a just, sound, and uniform tax for the support of a government of 
the people, by the people and for the people, as our national gov- 
•ernment, and also every American state and municipal govern- 
ment, happily is this." 

If this tax is to make people honest it would necessarily follow 
that property needed no further protection and consequently no tax. 

We are compelled to suppose that the people -uiill pay the tax, 
for if they don't want to, they can easily evade it, and only honest 
people would pay it, thereby encouraging dishonesty. 

But, Anti monopolist contends, they will pay, because they 
recognize the fairness of the tax; why, then, do you advocate the 
swearing of citizens, and if they will not then submit a true re- 
port, punish them even unto a deprivation of liberty.' 

This sounds much as if fie even doubted the honesty of the 
payees of the tax. 

Again, if the tax is levied because of the protection the gov- 
ernment extends over property, and the greater the property the 
larger the tax, it follows that all who possess sufficient property 
to bear a tax shall, regardless of everything else, have a voice in 
saying how and in what manner the property is to be protected, 
and disfranchise all who pay no tax, since they have no property' 
to protect. Citizenship would then depend upon a property quali- 

Anyway the proposition is void since the state government 
is invested with the complete police regulation. 

It is true that persons shall pay taxes to the extent of the 
privileges the government aifords them — merely voting is not a 
privilege, since it presupposes something to choose. It is simply 
a means to an end. 

The privilege a person enjoys in this or any other country is 
the privilege to hold exclusive possession to some portion of the 
land. Since all have an equal right, none can appropriate to 
themselves the choicest portions unless they render back to the 
■community an equivalent for the superior advantages they hold, 
\which shall be expended for the general good. 

My desire is to be an anti-monopolist; therefore I am com- 
pelled to be brief and not press too much matter into this reply; 
otherwise I would explain the advantages of this tax in detail. 

Benj. Doblin. 


Patrick Henry. American Statesmen Series. By Moses Cott 

Tyler. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

This series of compact useful biographies has long since 
established itself in popular approval, and but little more is 
needed by the reviewer than to call attention to the appearance 
oi a new number in a collection of works of equally high order 
and even execution throughout. Patrick Henry, the fervid orator 
and sound statesman, is one of the most picturesque characters in 
American history; and with a writer of such qualifications and 
pleasing style as Prof Tyler to present us with fresh knowledge 
of the subject, the reading of this book is sure to be as entertain- 
ing as profitable. 

LProf. Tyler embodies considerable new material in his work, 
as there was opportunity to do, inasmuch as the biography of 
"William Wirt, written as far back as 1S17, is the only work de- 

In the second chapter the author deals with what he calls "the 
Jeffersonian tradition of Patrick Henry's illiteracy," which he 
considers " far too highly tinted." Without attempting to prove 
that the brilliant orator was a "bookish per^n," he shows very 
conclusively that he was fairly well grounded, according to the 
standard of the period in which he lived, in the fundamentals of 
education, including considerable knowledge of the classics. In 
religious matters Henry did not share the " fashionable skepti- 
cism" of the times, as derived from contact with the free-thinking 
nation of France, and more directly introduced into this country 
in the teachings of Jeft'erson and Paine. He wrote a treatise in 
refutation of Paine's "Age of Reason," which, however, he after- 
wards destroyed, being distrustful of the literary merit of the 
work. The life of Patrick Henry covered the most eventful 
period of our early history, and in addition to the new knowledge 
we gain of the main subject. Prof Tyler has given us a clear and 
intelligent review of the general condition and outlook of affairs 
during, the early formative years when our national life was be- 
ginning to shape itself. c. p. w. 

Poems. 'Ry Ed-ward Ro-cvland Sill. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin&Co. 
Mr. Sill has long been known among lovers of good verse as 
one of the best minor poets of the day. He is doubtless best 
known to the general public by the short poem, "The Fool's 
Prayer;" but though we share the universal admiration for this 
specimen of the poet's work and feel the real power and inspira- 
tion it contains, we do not place it above other short poems, such 
as " Opportunity," " Dare You" and " Strange." 

The opening poem is entitled "The Venus of Milo," and is a 
dissertation in musical rhyme on celestial and earthly love, repre- 
sented in the deities of contrasted beauty and power over men, 
the Medicean and the Melian Venus. 

" Larg-er tfian mortal woman I see thee stand," 
he apostrophizes the last-named goddess, 

" Placid thy beams as that still line at dawn 
Where the dim hills along the slcy are drawn." 

Though this type of purer love abides on earth, it has not re- 
placed that of the other Aphrodite, daughter of the sea-foam : 
" From our low world no gods have taken wing, 
Even now upon our hills the twain are wandering, 
The Medicean's shy and servile grace, 
And the immortal beauty of thy face." 
But he has learned by bitter experience the false and fleeting 
happiness "that lesser Aphrodite" brings, and turns to pay the 
full homage of a tried and believing soul to her nobler sister. 
Here he will remain 

" Till the dim earth is luminous with Hght 
Of the white dawn from some far-hidden shore, 
That shines upon thy forehead evermore." 
This little collection of poems will be welcomed not only to 
old readers who have long known and prized the author's work, 
but to all lovers of high, ennobling verse. 

Mr. Sill never chooses an ignoble theme, nor does he write in 
the stiffly serious vein of the didactic poet. He is a reflective, 
hopeful observer of men and things, with the power of giving 
musical expression to his thoughts that lingers long and lovingly 
in the reader's ear. c. p. w. 

A Phyllis OF THE Sierras. By Brei Harte. Boston : The Same. 
This is a story written in the author's usual vein and dealing 
with the same materials of Western life and scenery which dis- 
tinguish all his writings and make up his native literary heath. 
"A Phyllis of the Sierras" is published in uniform size with 
"Maruja" and "Snowbound at Eagles," and will receive imme- 
diate welcome and perusal from Mr. Harte's numerous readers. 
The volume contains two stories, the second being entitled "A 
Drift from Redwood Camp." c. p. w. 





CHAPTER IX.— Concluded. 

The noise was silenced, and a brown gypsy woman, 
not smaller than Use, with shining hair arranged in braids 
and a colored handkerchief on her head, came out from 
the band, and stretched her hands toward Use. 

"My children beg," she said; "they hunger and 

It was a large face with sharp features, in which 
traces of former beauty were visible. With head bent 
forward, she stood before the young lady, and her 
sparkling eyes passed peeringly from one countenance to 
the other. 

" We have money only for the men who work for 
us," answered Use, coldly. " For strangers who are 
thirsty, there is our spring; and to those who are hungry 
we give bread. You will get nothing more at our house." 

Again dozens of arms were raised and again the 
wild crowd pressed nearer. The gypsy woman drove 
them back by a call in a foreign tongue. 

" We wish to work, Fraulein," she said, in fluent 
German, with a foreign accent; "the men mend old 
utensils, and we drive away rats and mice from the 
walls; and if you have a sick horse, we will cure it 
speedily." . 

Use shook her head negatively. " We do not need 
your help; where is your pass?" 

" We have none," said the woman; " we came from 
foreign parts," and she pointed to where the sun rises. 

" And where will you rest to-night?" asked Use. 

" We do not know; the sun is going down and my 
people are weary and barefooted," replied the gypsy 

" You must not rest near the farm nor near the vil- 
lage houses. The bread you will receive at the gate of 
the farm-yard; you may send some one there to fetch 
it. If you light a fire in one of our fields, take care not 
to go too near the sheaves; we shall look after you. 
Let none of you stroll about the property or into the vil- 
lage to tell fortunes to people, for we do not permit it." 

" We do not tell fortunes," answered the woman, 
touching a small black cross which she wore round her 
neck. " None here below know the future, nor do we." 

Use bent her head reverently. 

" Well said," said she, "According to the meaning 
which seems conveyed in your words, you do not remind 
me in vain of the communion which exists between us. 
Come to the gate yourself, mother, and expect me 
there; if you need anything for your little ones, I will 
endeavor to help you." 

" We have a sick child, my pretty young lady, and 
the boys are in want of clothes," begged the gypsy 


woman. " I will come, and my people shall do as you 

She gave a sign, and the wild troop tramped obedi- 
ently along the side road that led to the village. The 
friends looked with curiosity after the band. 

" That such a scene should be possible in this 
country I could never have believed," cried the Doctor. 

"They were formerly quite a plague to us," replied 
Use, with indifference; now they are scarce. My father 
keeps strict order, and that they know right well. But 
we must go back to the farm-yard, for there can be no 
harm in caution with these thievish people." 

She hastened back to the farm-yard. The Doctor 
lamented heartily that his journey hindered him from 
obtaining information from the strangers concerning the 
secrets of their language. 

Use called the Inspector, and the intelligence that 
there were gypsies in the neighborhood flew like wild 
fire over the farm. The stables were guarded, the 
poultry and families of fatted pigs were given in charge 
to stout maids, and the shepherds and the ploughmen 
received orders to keep watch at night. Use called the 
children and gave them their supper, and found it diffi- 
cult to control their excitement. The youngest were 
given over to mademoiselle, under strong protest and 
many tears, to the secure guardianship of their beds. 
Then Use collected old gowns and linen, gave a maid 
the charge of two loaves, and prepared to go to the 
gate of the farm-yard, where the gypsy woman would 
await her. The Doctor, in his joy about the strangers, 
had cast off all anxiety about his friend. 

" Allow us to witness the interview with the sibyl," 
he begged. 

They found the gypsy woman sitting in the dusk 
before the gate. Near her w^as a half-grown maiden, 
with brilliant eyes and long tresses, but scanty dress. 
The woman rose and received with a distinguished air 
the bounty which Use handed to her. 

" Blessings on you, young lady," she exclaimed, and 
all the happiness that you now wish shall be your por- 
tion. You have a face that promises good fortune. 
Blessings on your golden hair and your blue eyes. I 
thank you," she concluded, bowing her head. " Will 
not the gentlemen also give my little maiden a keep- 
sake?" The wild beauty held out her hand. "Her 
face is burnt by the sun; be kind to the poor dark girl,"' 
begged the old one, looking furtively round. 

The Professor shook his head negatively. The 
Doctor got out his purse and placed a piece of gold in 
the hand of the old woman. 

" Have you given up prophesying?" he askedy 

" It brings misfortune to those who prophesy and 
those who ask," replied the gypsy woman. " Let the 
gentleman be on his guard against all that barks or 



scratches, for mischief will come to him from dogs and 

Use and the Professor laughed; and meanwhile the 
eyes of the gypsy woman peered restlessly into the bushes. 

" We cannot tell fortunes," she continued. " We 
have no power over the future, and we make mistakes, 
like others. Yet we see much, my beautiful young lady; 
and though you do not desire it, I will tell you some- 
thing. The gentleman near you seeks a treasure, and 
he will find it, but he must take care not to lose it; and 
you, proud lady, will be dear to a man who wears a 
crown, and you will have the choice of becoming a 
sovereign; the choice and the torment," she added in a 
lower tone, and her eyes again wandered unquietly 

"Away with you," cried Use, indignantly; "such 
gossip does not agree with your words." 

" We know nothing," murmured the gypsy woman 
humbly, grasping the talisman on her neck. " We 
have only our thoughts, and our thoughts are idle or 
true, according to a more powerful will. Farewell, 
my pretty lady," she cried out with emphasis and strode 
with her companion into the darkness. 

"How proudly she goes away," exclaimed the Doc- 
tor. "I have much respect for the clever woman; she 
-would not tell fortunes, but she could not help recom- 
mending herself by a bit of secret knowledge." 

" She has long ago learnt all about us from the la- 
Ijorers," replied Use, laughing. 

"Where have they pitched their tents?" asked the 
Doctor, with curiosity. 

"Probably beyond the village," answered Use. "You 
may see their fires in the valley. These strangers do not 
like one to come near their camp and see what they have 
for supper." 

They descended slowly into the valley and remained 
standing on the border of the brook, not far from the 
garden. All around them lay the darkness of the even- 
ing on bush and meadow. The old house stood out on 
the rock, gloomy under the twilight gray of the heavens. 
At their feet the water murmured and the leaves of 
the trees were agitated by the night wind. Silently did 
the three look upon the vanishing forms of the land- 
scape; the valley alongside of the village lay invisible in 
the deep shadows of the night; not one lighted window 
■was to be seen. 

"They have disappeared silently like the bats, which 
are even now flying through the air," said the E)octor. 

But the others did not answer; they were no longer 
thinking of the gypsies. 

Then through the still evening they heard a low 
moan. Use started and listened. Again the same weak 

"The children!" cried Use, in dismay, and rushed 
toward the hedge which divided the meadow from the 

orchard. Much alarmed she shook the closed gate, then 
broke through the hedge and sprang like a lioness past 
the espaliers. The friends hastened after her, but could 
not overtake her. A bright light shone among the trees 
before her and something moved as she flew on. Two 
men rose from the ground ; one encountered her, but 
Use threw back the arm which was raised to strike her, 
so that the man tottered and fell back over the weeping 
children who lay on the grass. Felix, who was behind 
Use, sprang forward and seized the man, while the 
Doctor the next moment struggled with another, who 
glided like an eel from under his hands and disappeared 
in the darkness. Meanwhile the first robber struck at 
the arm of the Professor with his knife, wrenched him- 
self away from the hand which held him, and in the 
next moment broke through the hedge. One heard the 
crackling of the branches, and then all was quiet 

"They live!" cried Use, kneeling on the ground, 
with panting breath, and embracing the little ones, who 
now uttered piteous cries. It was Riekchen, in her 
night-dress, and Franz, also nearly stripped. The 
children had _ escaped from the eyes of mademoiselle 
and the protection of the bedroom and slipped into the 
garden, in order to see the fire of the gypsies, of which 
they had heard their sister speak. They had fallen into 
the hands of some of the fellows belonging to the band, 
who were looking out for something to steal, and had 
been deprived of their clothes. 

Use took the screaming children in her arms, and in 
vain did the friends try to relieve her of the burden. 
Silently she hastened with them into the house, rushed 
into the room, and, still holding them fast, knelt down 
by them before the sofa, and the friends heard her sup- 
pressed sobs. But it was only for a few moments that 
she lost her self-control. She rose, and looked at the 
servants, who thronged terrified into the room. 

" No harm has happened to the children," she ex- 
claimed. " Go where you have to keep watch and send 
one of the Inspectors to me." 

The Inspector stepped forward. 

" This has been a robbery on our land," said Use, 
" and those who perpetrated it should be given up to the 
law. I beg of you to have them seized in their camp." 
" Their fire is in the ravine behind the village," re- 
plied the Inspector; "one may see the flame and smoke 
from the upper story. But, Friiulein — I say it unwil- 
lingly — would it not be more prudent to let the rogues 
escape? A large portion of the harvest still lies in 
sheaves; they may set it on fire in the night, out of re- 
venge, or perhaps venture still worse, in order to free 
their people." 

"No," exclaimed Use; "do not hesitate — do not de- 
lay. Whether the vagabonds injure us or not will be 
decided by a higher will; we must do our duty. The 



crime demands punishment, and the master of this prop- 
erty is in tlie position of guardian of tlie law." 

"Let us be quick," said the Professor; "we will ac- 
company you." 

" Take your strongest men from the farm-yard," 
said Use; "Hans and I will watch in the house." She 
burst open the study door and pointed gloomily to her 
father's chest of arms. " Take from thence whatever 
our people require for defence." 

"Now I am satisfied," replied the Inspector, after 
consideration; "the farm bailiff shall remain here and 
we others will seek the band at the fire." 

He hastened out. The Doctor seized a knobbed 
stick that was in a corner of the room. " That will suf- 
fice," he said, laughing, to his friend. " I consider my- 
self bound to show some forbearance toward these 
thievish associates of my studies, who have not quite 
forgotten their Indian language." As he wa^ on the 
point of leaving the room he stopped : " But you must 
remain behind, for you are bleeding." 

Some drops of blood fell from the sleeve of the Pro- 

The countenance of the maiden became white as the 
door against which she leant. " For our sake," she mur- 
mured faintly. Suddenly she hastened up to the Pro- 
fessor and bent down to kiss his hand. Felix restrained 

" It is not worth speaking of, Fraulein," he ex- 
claimed. " I can move my arm." 

The Doctor compelled him to take off his coat and 
Use flew for a bandage. 

Fritz examined the wound with the composure of an 
old student. " It is a slight prick in the muscles in the 
under part of the arm," he said, comforting Use; "a little 
sticking-plaster will be sufficient." 

The Professor put on his coat again and seized his 
hat. " Let us start," he said. 

"Oh, no; remain with us," begged Use, hastening 
after him. 

The Professor looked at her anxious countenance, 
shook her heartily by the hand and left the room with 
his friend. 

The hasty tread of the men had died away. Use 
went alone through all the rooms in the house; doors 
and windows were closed; Hans watched at the door 
opening into the court-yard, his father's sword in his 
hand; and the housemaids overlooked the court-yard and 
garden from the upper floor. Use entered the nursery, 
where the two little ones, surrounded by mademoiselle 
and their brothers and sisters, were sitting in their beds 
and struggling between their last tears and their sleep. 
Use kissed the tired little ones, laid them down on their 
pillows, then she hastened out into the yard and listened, 
now in the direction in which the band lay, now on the 
other side, where the clatter of horses' hoofs might 

announce the arrival of her father. All was quiet. The^ 
maids from above called to her that the fire of the 
gypsies was extinguished, and she again hastened up and 
down, listening anxiously and looking up to the starry 

What a day! A few hours before raised above the 
' cares of earth, and now by a hostile band dragged back 
into terror and anxiety ! Was this to be a foreboding of 
her future life? Were the golden doors only opened to 
be closed again discordantly and a poor soul to be 
thrown back upon hopeless aspirations? The deceiver 
had prophesied of one who might wear a crown. Yes, 
in the realm in which he ruled as king there was a 
blessed serenity and happy peace. Ah, if it might be 
permitted to compare the joys of earth with those of 
heaven, such learning and power of thought gave a 
foretaste of eternal glory. For thus did the spirits of 
those who had here been good and wise soar, surrounded 
by light, in pure clearness of vision, and speak smiling and 
happy to one another of all that had been upon earth ; 
the most secret things would be revealed to them, and 
all that was most deeply veiled become apparent, and 
they would know that all the pains and sorrows of 
earth proceeded from eternal goodness and wisdom. 
And he who here trod this earth, a serene heaven in his 
heart, he was wounded in the arm by a wandering vag- 
abond for her sake; and from love for her he had again 
gone out into the fearful night, and she was troubled 
with endless anguish on his account. "Protect him, all- 
merciful God," she prayed, " and help me out of this 
darkness; give me strength, and enlighten my mind 
that I may become worthy of the man who beholds Thy 
countenance in past times, and among people that 
have passed away." 

At last she heard the quick trot, and then the snorting 
of an impatient horse at the closed door. " Father!" she 
cried out, hastily drawing back the bolt, and flying into 
his arms, as he dismounted. The proprietor was much 
perplexed as he listened to her rapid report. He threw 
his horse's bridle to his son, and hastened to the nursery 
to embrace his little ones, who at the sight of their 
father remembered their misfortunes, and began to weep 
and lament. 

As the proprietor entered the farmyard, the farming 
people drew near the house, and the inspector stated 
" that no one was to be seen near the fire or in the 
neighborhood. There was no trace near the fire of 
their having encamped there — it had been lighted to 
mislead; theft had been their only object here; the 
greater part of the band had left early in the evening. 
They are lying concealed somewhere in the woods, and 
when the sun rises they will be far beyond the frontier. 
I know the rascals of old." 

" He is right," said the proprietor, to the friends, 
"and I think we have nothing more to fear; yet we 



must be very watchful to-night. But a poor father 
thanks you," he continued, with ^motion; "the last day 
you have passed with us, Doctor, iias been unpleasantly 
eventful, which is not usual with us." 

" I undoubtedly depart in anxiety about what I leave 
behind here," replied the Doctor, half jesting, half serious. 
"Just fancy some of the lost children of Asia sneaking 
about these walls!" 

" I hope we are rid of the rascals," continued the 
proprietor, turning to his daughter; " but you may count 
upon a different visit soon; our sovereign will be here a 
few weeks hence. I have been called away only to hear 
gossip about this visit, and to learn that it is not yet 
decided where his Serene Highness will breakfast before 
the hunt. I know what that means; the same thing 
happened fifteen years ago. There is no help for it; he 
cannot remain at the Dragon at Rossau; but this visit 
will not cause us any very serious inconvenience. Let us 
now wish each other good night and sleep in peace." 

Both friends entered their bed-room thoughtfully. 
The Professor stood at the window, and listened to the 
tread of the watchmen, who paced around the yard, 
within and without, to the chirruping of the crickets, 
and to the broken sounds which reached the ear from 
the slumbering fields. He heard a noise near him, and 
looked into the countenance of his faithful friend, who 
in his excitement had clasped his hands. 

" She is religious," said Fritz, doubtfully. 

"Are we not so also?" answered the Professor, draw- 
ing himself up to his full height. 

"She is as far removed from the tenor of your mind 
as the holy Elizabeth." 

"She has good, sound sense," replied the Professor. 

" She is firm and self-confident, in her own circle, 
but she will never be at ease in your world." 

"She has aptness here — she will have it every- 

" You blind yourself," cried Fritz, in despair; "will 
you disturb the peace of your life by a discord, the end 
of which you cannot foresee? Will you demand of 
her the great change which she must undergo from 
being a thorough house-keeper to becoming the con- 
fidant of your profound investigations? Will you deprive 
her of the secure self-dependence of an active life and 
bring into her future, struggle, uncertainty, and doubt? 
If you will not think of your own peace, it is your duty 
to show consideration for her life." 

The Professor leant his hot head against the win- 
dow. At last he began : 

"But we are the servants and proclaimers of truth; 
and while we practice this duty towards everyone who 
will hear us, is it not right and a duty to do it where 
we love? " 

" Do not deceive yourself," answered Fritz. " You, 
a man of refined feeling, who so willingly perceive in 

every life what befits it — you would be the last to 
disturb the harmony of her being, if you did not desire 
to possess her. What impels you is not a feeling of duty, 
but passion." 

" What I dare not demand of strangers, I am entitled 
to expect in the woman with whom I unite myself for 
life. And must not every woman that comes to share 
our life experience a similar change? How high do 
you place the knowledge of the women in the city who 
come into our circle? " 

" What they know is, as a rule, more uncertain than 
is good for them or us," replied Fritz; "but from their 
youth they are accustomed to view the learning that 
interests men with sympathy. The best results of intel- 
lectual work are so easily accessible to them that every- 
where they find common ground on which they can 
meet. But here, however charming and admirable 
this life may appear to our eyes, it is attractive just 
because it is so strange and different from ours." 

" You exaggerate, and are not correct," cried the 
Professor. " I have felt deeply in these days that we 
have passed here, what we easily forget over our books, 
how great are the rights that a noble passion has over 
our life. Who can tell what makes two human beings 
love each other so much that they cannot part? It is 
not only pleasure in the existence of the other, nor the 
necessity of making one's own being complete, nor feel- 
ing and fancy alone, which joins the object of our love — 
although heretofore a stranger— so intimately to us. Is it 
necessary that the wife should only be the finer reed, 
which always sounds the same notes that the husband 
plays, only an octave higher? Speech is incapable of ex- 
pressing the joy and exultation that I feel when near her; 
and I can only tell you, my friend, that it is something 
good and great and it demands its place in my life. What 
you now express are only the doubts of cold reason, 
which is adverse to all that is to be, and continues to raise 
its pretensions until it is subdued by accomplished reali- 

" It is not alone the reason," replied Fritz, offended. 
" I do not deserve that you should so misconstrue what I 
have said. If it v\ras presumptuous in me to speak to 
you concerning feelings which you now consider sacred, 
I must say in excuse that I only assume the right which 
your friendship has hitherto granted me. I must do my 
duty to you before I leave you here. If I cannot con- 
vince you, try to forget this conversation ; I will never 
touch upon this theine again." 

He left the Professor standing at the window, and 
went to his bed. This time he took his boots off, 
went to the bed, and turned his face to the wall. 
After a short time he felt his hand seized, the Professor 
was sitting by his bed clasping his friend's hand without 
saying a word. At last Fritz withdrew his hand with a 
hearty pressure and again turned to the wall. 



He rose in the early dawn, gently approached 
the slumbering Professor, and then quietly left the 
room. The proprietor awaited him in the sitting-room; 
the carriage came; there was a short friendly parting, 
and Fritz drove away, leaving his friend alone among 
the crickets of the field and the ears of corn, whose 
heavy heads rose and fell like the waves of the sea under 
the morning breeze, the same this year as they have 
done thousands and thousands of years before. 

The doctor looked back on the rock on which 
stood the old house, on the terraces beneath, with the 
churchyard and wooden church, and on the forest which 
surrounded the foot of the hill; and all the past and the 
present of this dangerous place rose distinctly before 
him. The ancient character of the Saxon times had 
altered little here; and he looked on the rock and the 
beautiful Use of Bielstein, as she would have been in the 
days of yore. Then the rock would be consecrated to a 
heathen god, even at that time there would have been a 
tower standing on it, and Use would have dwelt there, 
with her golden hair, in a white linen dress with a gar- 
ment of otter skin over it. Then she would have been 
priestess and prophetess to a wild Saxon race. Where the 
church stood would have been the sacyificial altar, from 
which the blood of prisoners of war would have trickled 
down into the valley. 

Again, later, a Christian Saxon chief would have 
tuilt his log house there, and again the same Use 
would have sat between the wooden pillars in the 
raised apartment of the women, using her spindle, or 
pouring black mead into the goblets of the men. 

Again, a century later it would have been a brick 
house, with stone mullions to the windows, and a 
watch-tower erected on the rock, which had become a 
nest for predatory barons, and the Use of Bielstein again 
■would have dwelt there, in a velvet hood which her 
father had robbed from a merchant on the king's high- 
way; and when the house was assaulted by enemies, 
Use would have stood among the men on the wall 
and have drawn the large cross-bow, like a knight's 

Again, many hundred years later, she would have 
been sitting in the hunting castle of a prince, with her 
father, an old warrior of the Swedish time; then she 
would have become pious, and, like a city dame, have 
cooked jams and preserves, and gone down to the pas- 
tor to the conventicle; she would not have worn flowers, 
and would have sought to know what husband heaven 
destined for her by placing her finger at hazard on a 
passage in the Bible. 

And now his friend had met this same Saxon child, 
tall and strong in body and soul, but still a child 
of the middle ages, with a placid expression in 
her beautiful countenance which only changed when 
the heart was excited by any sudden passion ; a mind as if 

half asleep, and of a nature so child-like and pliant that 
it was sometimes impossible to know whether she was 
wise or simple. In her character there still adhered 
to her something of all those Uses of the two thousand 
years, a mixture of Sibyl, mead-dispenser, knight's 
daughter and pietist. She was of the old German type 
and the old German beauty, but that she should suddenly 
become the wife of a Professor, that appeared to the 
troubled Doctor too much against all the laws of quiet 
historical development. 

( To be continued.') 


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In the first part of this essay we discussed Goethe's 
general conception of Nature's modus operandi in the 
shaping of the earth. We have now to consider his specu- 
lations with regard to the development of living forms. 

The studies that are now to be discussed began with 
the exigencies of horticulture at Weimar. In 17S3 we 
find the busy poet-minister reading the botanical writ- 
ings of Rousseau and "taking a taste" of Linnaeus. In 
1785 he is examining seeds imder the microscope. About 
this time Linnseus begins to be his "daily study;" he ex- 
erts himself to master the Linnaean terminology, and a 
compendium of the great Swedish naturalist's system 
accompanies him on all his journeys. In the summer of 
17S5 he passes several weeks at Karlsbad, and there, in 
the society of helpful friends, the botanical studies make 
good progress. One day he comes upon an area covered 
with the drosera and is led to make further observations 
upon the " irritability" of plants. But, as would be sup- 
posed, these studies at Karlsbad were little more than 
the "analysis" of plants: The program consisted in 
taking a flower to pieces 'and ascertaining what name 
Linnseus had seen fit to give it. In this art Goethe 
complacently claims to have acquired some proficiency, 
although he was not enthusiastic over it, for the reason, 
as he very characteristically explains, that " dissecting 
and counting did not lie in his nature" (1 rennen und 
Zdhlen lag nicJit in meiner Natur).* In this same con- 
nection he further observes, without explicitly making 
the opinion referred to his own: "We were often com- 
pelled to hear the objection that the whole science of 
botany, to which we were so devoted, was nothing but 
nomenclature; that it was a system built upon numbers, 
and imperfect at that, and as such could satisfy neither 
the understanding nor the imagination." 

Upon his return to Weimar botany interests him 
more than ever. He carefully studies Linnasus' " Bo- 
tanical Philosophy," and seeks instruction from special- 
ists of his acquaintance. Presently, as we can see from 
his letters, a great idea, or what he takes to be such, 

» Werke XXXIII,, p. 63. The essay from which I quote in the text, Ge- 
schichte meines botanischfn Studiums, was written by Goethe in 18 1 7, after his 
theories had begun to attract attention, for the purpose of showing that he had 
reached his conclusions, "not through any extraordinary mental gifts, not 
through a sudden inspiration, nor suddenly, nor unexpectedly, but through sys- 
tematic effort." 

has begun to float vaguely before his mind. The earli- 
est attempts at description are misty and poetical, but 
gradually the thought becomes clearer and gives him 
inexpressible pleasure. July 9, 1786, he writes to Frau 
von Stein, then the confidante of all his thoughts: "If I 
could but impart to another my vision and my delight, 
but it is impossible. And it is no dream, no fancy; it 
is a discernment of the essential form with which 
Nature continually, as it were, plays, and playing 
brings forth the manifold forms of life."* In the 
autumn of 1 786 he takes sudden flight to Italy and his 
"botanical whimsies" follow him over the Alps. 
Everywhere he goes the vegetation of Italy divides his 
attention with poetry and plastic art. Sept. 27, 17S6, 
he writes from Padua: "It is delightful and instructive 

to wander about amid a strange vegetation 

Here in this novel variety the thought becomes more 
vivid that all plant forrns might perhaps be developed 
from a single one."f Soon his mind is full of this Ur- 
pjlatize or typical plant, and he commences to look for it, 
at first actually expectmg to find it in Nature. This 
quest he soon gives up, however, and the typical plant 
becomes for him what it is for us, namely, an imaginary 
morphological norm. In 1787, while he is in Sicily, the 
idea suddenly flashes upon him that the various "organs" 
of a plant are essentially identical; that is, are variations 
of the same thing.J This idea he follows up eagerly 
and develops in an essay : " The Metamorphosis of 
Plants," which was published in 1790 — -the poet's first 
actual contribution to scientific literature. This essay is 
small in compass and very modest in its tone. Its language 
aims to be scientific, but is, in fact, often figurative and 
poetical. Its substance is a development of the thesis 
that the organs of a plant, cotyledon, leaf, sepal, petal, 
stamen and pistil, are produced by nature through the 
progressive transformation of a single organ. 

But now before we consider what these theories of 
the typical plant and of metamorphosis really meant to 
their propounder, and what their logical implications 
were, a few words may be devoted to the early history 
of his analogous speculations with regard to animal mor- 

It was in 1781 that Goethe began taking formal 
lessons in anatomy with Professor Loder of Jena. The 

*ScholI-Fielitz: Goethe's Briefe an Frau von Stein, Vol. II., p. 334. 
\WerieXXlV., p. 52. 
tWerieXXXai., p. 71. 


next year we find him collecting skeletons and observ- 
ing their homologies. Prominent anatomists like Blu- 
menbach, Sommering and Camper taught that a fixed 
morphological distinction between man and brute was to 
be found in the fact that the former uniformly has the in- 
termaxillary bone whereas the latter invariably lacks it. 
Goethe presently became convinced that any such dis- 
tinction must be illusory. He found a perfect chain of 
homologies between the bony frame of man and that of 
the higher brutes and felt sure, to use his own signifi- 
cant language, that man and beast are "very closely 
akin" to each other. Could it be that Nature, whose 
method was that of gradual transition from one form to 
another without breaks and without barriers, had here 
broken this customary continuity and interposed an im- 
passable barrier in the shape of an unfailing and absolute 
distinction ? He felt that the integrity of his whole 
philosophy of nature depended upon his finding an inter- 
maxillary bone in man. And so he went at work with 
his friend Loder, and, in the spring of 1784, found what 
he wanted. The specialists were slow in admitting his 
claim, but in the fullness of time it was seen that he was 

It is not necessary to the present purpose to consider 
how far these ideas of Goethe had already been formu- 
lated by others or to trace in any detail the subsequent 
history of his morphological studies. There is no doubt 
that the ideas were originaiybr him if not -with him in 
the fullest sense of the word. Also what he subse- 
quently wrote, though not inconsiderable in amount, is 
only a working out of the germinal conceptions 
already described. The question of interest here is: 
What did these conceptions involve? Or, to what extent 
were they in the line of modern evolution? 

The answer to these questions turns largely upon 
the meaning which Goethe attached to certain words 
which occur constantly in his writings, namely, " Ur- 
pflanze," "Urthier," "Typus," "Urbild" and "Schema." 
The question is of course not so much what these words 
naturally denote as what they did actually connote for 
him. Some writers contend that Goethe's "type" was 
only a metaphysical abstraction involving no hypothesis 
of descent whatever. And undoubtedly there is some 
room for debate since the language employed is seldom 
perfectly clear. Take for example the following pas- 

" This then we can have no hesitation in maintain- 
ing, that all the more perfect organisms, among them 
fishes, amphibians, birds, mammals and at the head of 
these last, man, are all formed after one archetype (nach 
einem Urbilde) that simply varies (hin und her weicht) 
more or less and is also continually developing and 
transforming itself through propagation (durch Fort- 

*ffVr;i« XXXIII., p. a6i. 

In this deliverance Haeckel* sees all the essentials of 
modern evolution, while others, for example Kossmann,-j- 
contend that it means no more than if one were to say 
of half a dozen .statues of Venus that they were all 
formed upon one type. This language certainly would 
not imply that they were all the bodily children of a com- 
mon parent. In fact the very idea of descent from an 
archetype is an absurdity. But without this idea of 
actual bodily descent, Goethe's theory has no resem- 
blance to the evolutionary doctrines of to-day. In fact 
it belongs as a theory to metaphysics or jesthetics 
rather than to physical science. Thus argue the writers 
who, with Kossmann, oppose the views of Haeckel. 

With regard to the theory of metamorphosis a sim- 
ilar contention has been made. The well-known 
botanist Sachs seems to be of the opinion that Goethe's 
theory was a mere mental abstraction signifying, from 
a scientific point of view, simply nothing. Sachs would 
have us believe that Goethe, scrutinizing the organs of 
different flowering plants, and observing that their 
organs are not everywhere separate and distinct entities, 
but that here the cotyledon, elsewhere the stamen, and 
so on, looks more or less like a leaf, and that here and 
there are found organs that appear to represent a transi- 
tional state of development — simply subsumed the six 
different things under the name of leaf. If this be all 
there is of the matter, then obviously Goethe's perform- 
ance was little more than a feat of nomenclature — an 
extension of the meaning of the word " leaf." It would 
be much as if one were to pick up half a dozen pebbles, 
and, observing in them certain resemblances in form 
and color, and discovering also that transitional pebbles 
could be found in the field which would resemble any 
one of the six more closely than this one would resem- 
ble any of the other five, should propound a theory of 
the metamorphosis of pebbles, and devise a name for the 
archetypal pebble from which all particular pebbles 
might be regarded as morphological variations. 

Is this, then, what Goethe meant with his " Typus" 
and his "Urbild," and his metamorphosis of plants and 
animals? Very certainly it is not. The man who 
could suppose such a thing may know his botany and 
his zoology, but he does not know Goethe. The latter 
was no lover of abstractions that lead nowhere and signify 
nothing. Had the case been as just imagined he never 
would have told us that the happiest moments of his 
life were connected with his study of plant metamor- 
phosis.J The fact seems to me entirely beyond ques- 
tion that Goethe's theory was a genuine hypothesis of 
descent. It was held somewhat vaguely and was very 
likely never thought out in all its detailed implications. 
He does not tell us how many Urbilder he finds it con- 

*NalUrliche SchSpfungsgtschichte, 4th ed., p. Sa f . 

\War Goethe ein Milbegriinder der Descendenztheorie t Heidelberg, 1877, 
p. 10. 

JH'.fr/ti' XXXIII., p. 90. 



venient to assume or how these originally came into ex- 
istence; and it is to be remembered that his own studies 
were confined to a comparatively small range of phfenog- 
amous plants and vertebrate animals. Nor does he any- 
where make a serious attempt to answer the difficult ques- 
tions which his hypothesis naturally raises. He dilates 
often, to be sure, upon the variability of specific and gener- 
ic distinctions, but he dilates also upon the apparent fix- 
ity of species and genera and nowhere does he express the 
opinion that the variability which he himself observed 
is sufficient to account for the origin of species and 
genera. In short, his mind overleaps and ignores the 
difficult details of the argument. Nevertheless, after 
much study of the many passages in his writings which 
refer to this subject, I cannot doubt that his hypothesis 
was really one of descent. When he says, "variations 
of a common type," or something similar, there is al- 
ways latent in the background of his mind the subaudi- 
tion, " children of a common parent." 

From the first awakening of his scientific sense we 
find that the thought of the kinship of man with the 
lower animals is, with Goethe, a familiar thought. In No- 
vember, 1784, he writes to Knebel, apropos of his still un- 
printed essay upon the intermaxillary bone, saying that he 
has refrained in the essay from intimating his convictions 
that the distinction between man and brute is to be found 
in no particular point; and he adds: " On the contrary 
man is most closely related to the brute. Vielmehr ist 
der Menschaufs ndchste mit den Thieren vertvandt."* 
Among the high blessings for which Faust returns 
thanks to the Earth-Spirit is the sense of brotherhood 
•with all living things: 

" Du fuhrst die Reihe der Lebendigen 
Vor niir vorbei und lehrst mich meine Briider 
Im stillen Busch, in Luit.und Wasser kennen.''^ 

This passage was probably written in 17S8. In a 
letter of Frau von Stein to Knebel, written somewhat 
earlier, occurs this sentence : " Herder's new work (the 
"Ideen" is referred to) makes it probable that we were 
once plants and animals." But this idea in such explicit 
form is not in Herder and it is certain that Frau von 
Stein did not originate it. Beyond a doubt she had it 
from Goethe. J Then how can we understand such 
language as this if we attempt to eliminate the idea oi de- 
scent from Goethe's theorizing : "Nature can compass 
her purposes only in sequence. She makes no jumps. 
She could not, for example, produce a horse had not all 
the other animals preceded on which, as on a ladder, she 
ascends to the structure of the horse."§ 

But if there could be any doubt as to the range of 
Goethe's speculations with regard to the descent of 

*Briefwechsel ZTvixcheM Goethe und Knebel^ I., p. 55. 

\Werkeyi\\\., p. 105. 

tCf. Kalischer in his excellent introduction to Goethe's scientific writings, 
Werke XXXIII., p. 64, an introduction to which the present essay is elsewhere 
much indebted. 

§Rierner's Brief e von und an Goethe^ Leipzig, 1846, p. 311. 

man, the doubt would be set at rest by the incident of 
Homunculus in the Second Part of Faust. Homuncu- 
lus is a mind without a body and his desire is to "com- 
mence existence," i. e., to acquire a body and become a 
genuine homo. He accordingly takes expert advice as 
to how and where he can best do this and as a result 
finally dashes his glass house against the throne of Ga- 
latea and dissolves himself with the phosphorescent sea, 
there to come up in the lapse of sons through polyp, 
fish, reptile, mammal, to the estate of man. In the fable 
Galatea represents the Love-goddess and so the begin- 
ning of Homunculus' evolution is a grand act of homage 
to Love — and no wonder, since it is Love that must pre- 
side over each stage of his upward progress. The sym- 
bolism is so transparent that one can only smile at the 
perplexity of the older commentators of Faust in their 
attempts to expound the character of Homunculus. And 
be it said incidentally that the poetry of the Homunculus 
incident is, especially at the close of it, so superb that 
one can only feel sorry for the people who think that 
the Second Part of Faust " doesn't count." 

But it will be said that this is poetry and it will be 
asked what evidence there is, in plain unequivocal prose, 
as to Goethe's attitude upon the fundamental articles of 
the modern evolutionist's faith. We have seen that he 
early accustomed his mind to operate with vast periods of 
time. With regard to the mutability of specific distinc- 
tions he writes thus: 

" The changeableness of plant forms which I had 
long been observing awakened in me the idea that the 
forms about us were not originally fixed and deter- 
mined, but that there had been given to them, along 
with a singular tenacity of generic and specific charac- 
ter, a fortunate mobility and adaptability (Biegsamkeit) 
by which they had been able to accommodate them- 
selves to siich manifold terrestrial conditions and to form 
and transform themselves accordingly."* 

Elsewhere he writes upon the same subject: 

" If, now, we look for the occasion of this manifold 
adaptability (Bestimmbarkeit), this is to be said first of 
all: Animals are formed by circumstances for circum- 
stances; hence their inner perfection and their adap- 
tation to external conditions. ""j" 

Concerning teleological explanations, he uses this 
clear and decisive language: 

" The question to be asked hereafter concerning such 
members as, for example, the tusks of the sus babirussa, 
will not be. What are they good for? but Whence 
came they .-" It will not be said that the bull has been 
given horns that he may gore with them, but the ques- 
tion will be raised, How he came to have horns for gor- 


Even the struggle for existence and its results in cer- 

*>Ffrfc, XXXIII., p. 71. 
^Werie, XXXin., p. 196. 
iwerke, XXXIII., p. 196. 



tain specific cases* had been observed by him, although 
there is no evidence that he had anything Hke an ade- 
quate conception of the magnitude and importance of 
the subject. But to sum up without furtlier multiply- 
ing quotations: The kinship of living things, the 
descent of man from lower orders of life, mutability of 
specific distinctions, progressive adaptation of organ- 
isms to external conditions, struggle for existence — all 
these ideas Goethe certainly had. What he did not 
have was the doctrine of natural selection and the vast 
array of observed facts which have since taken this en- 
tire subject out of the hands of poetic and philosophic 
generalizers and given it in charge of a new generation 
of scientific investigators. 

Would .the great German poet feel at home in this 
new generation? Would he breathe with pleasure and 
exhilaration the scientific atmosphere of our day? Du 
Bois-Reymond thinks not, for the reason that he lacked 
interest in mechanical causes; the great sciences with 
which he concerned himself are now quite largely occu- 
pied with questions of physics. With this opinion I in- 
cline, upon the whole, to concur. Goethe would un- 
doubtedly be pleased to find in recent research the con- 
firmation of many ideas that had become dear to him. 
But, on the other hand, he had a rooted dislike of labor- 
atory methods, and the laboratory is triumphant. That 
strange superstition of his about "dissecting and count- 
ing" would make him poor company for a modern 
biologist. Or would he, if alive, succumb to the genius 
of the age and recant his famous dictum : 

" Geheimnissvoll am lichten Tag 
Lasst sich Natur des Schleiers nicht berauben, 
Und was sie deinem Geist nicht oftenbaren mag 
Das zwingst du ihr nicht ab mit Hebeln und mit Schrauben." 



Part HI. 


Biographical studies have established the fact that 
the persistence of animal race-habits is proportioned to 
the length of their original influence. In a transient 
w^ay even the habits of a limited number of generations 
are apt to become hereditary. Young pointer-dogs 
often volunteer the purely artificial trick enforced (for 
the hunter's convenience) upon a few generations of 
their ancestors, but without constant practice the prog- 
eny of the best hunting-dog will soon cease to "point" 
game. Yet, the habits acquired during the countless 
ages when the wild dog disputed the hunting-grounds 
of the wolf and the jackal, have persistently withstood 
the influence of domestication. The pampered spaniel, 
not less than the leanest hound, still provides for hard 

*Cf. Werkt, XXXIII., p. 121. 

times by burying superfluous bones. Breeds of dogs 
which for centuries have earned their bread by tread- 
mill work still hunt in their dreams. The half-wild 
bush-dog of the Mexican Sierras joins in the howling- 
serenades of the prairie-wolf and, like the fox, rears his 
whelps in deep burrows. Neglected domestic cattle 
revert to the original type of their species: ancestral 
habits will re-assert themselves at the first favorable 

The same rule holds good of inveterate race-habits 
of the human species. Of all the nations of Europe the 
Spaniards have, for the longest period, been subjected to 
the vicissitudes of a defensive war against foreign 
invaders. A thousand years before the beginning of 
our chronological era, Phoenician fleets already harassed 
the Spanish coasts from Malaga to the mouth of the 
Ebro. Eight centuries after the legions of Rome 
pushed their westward conquests to the shores of the 
Atlantic, though not without desperate resistance, as 
attested by the defeat of three successive consular 
armies and the unparalleled episode of Numantia, where 
the entire population of a large city committed suicide 
to avoid the alternative of surrender. After the Romans 
came the Vandals and Visigoths and finally the Moors, 
who for nearly seven centuries maintained a continual 
border-war against the champions of the cross. Long- 
continued habit is apt to become a second nature, and in 
the course of ages the natives of the Iberian peninsula 
have acquired an instinct which a modern traveler aptly 
describes as the Guerilla passion — a chronic penchant 
for conspiracy and insurrection. The Castilian auto- 
crats succeeded for awhile in bridling that passion, but 
after the conquest of America it broke out with re- 
doubled force, and when the colonists of the transatlantic 
provinces had exhausted all other pretexts of rebellion, 
they proceeded to quarrel among themselves and still 
continue to revolt against their self-elected liberal gov- 
ernments. Indifference to the blessings of industrial 
peace is no adequate explanation of that Spanish-Amer- 
ican mutiny mania. "Are you not getting tired of those 
everlasting scrimmages?" I once asked a Spanish-Mex- 
ican agitator. " Que mas quiere?" he asked with a look 
of surprise — " what better can you wish ?" " es la veris- 
sima vida de un hombre " — " it's the true life-element 
of a man!" 

Germany, too, has borne the brunt of foreign inva- 
sions, but her invaders were mostly city-conquerors. 
The Rhenish colonies of the Caesars were mere fortified 
camps. Charlemagne, after the murderous battles of 
the Saxon campaign, had to content himself with 
founding a few dozen Bisthuaner (bishoprics) garri- 
soned with soldiers and priests, to tame the pride of the 
Saxon princes. But the forest dwellers of the inland- 
districts still inaintained their independence ; and four 
hundred years after, when the prelates of the church had 




acquired sovereign power, the Frciherren ("free 
lords") of a thousand castles still defied control, and 
■with their sport-loving retainers enjoyed ns much secu- 
lar freedom as Xenophon in his Arcadian hunting- 
lodge. They hunted and caroused; the lays of their 
minstrels were pieans of Naturalism, and even the 
-ditties of the German rustics (like the ballads of the 
^obin Hood era) breathed defiance to clerical tyranny.* 

From despotism and the worry of city-life the coun- 
trymen of Arminius thus learned to take refuge in a 
communion with nature; and Natur-liebe — Nature- wor- 
ship and the love of outdoor life, has remained a chief 
character-trait of the German nation. While the shores 
of the Mediterranean and the rivers of France and Spain 
are bordered by ranges of desolate sandhills, the moun- 
tains of Germany are still crowned with the glory of 
their primeval forests, one-third in the German Empire, 
one-tenth in France and one-fifteenth in Spain being the 
present proportion of woodlands to treeless areas. The 
aristocracy of Italy and Spain spend their revenues in 
city pleasures, while German and British nobles prefer 
the- hunting-grounds of their ancestral estates. The Ger- 
man coloni-.t, even in the prairies of Kansas, manages to 
surround his homestead with a grove of shade- trees. 
The typical Spanish- American hacienda^ even in the 
heart of the tropical virgin- woods, is a sun-blistered 
stone-pile, surrounded by treeless fields. The Spanish- 
American colonist, with all his race-instincts of poetry 
and beauty-worship, has no eyes for the grandeur of his 
native Sierras, nor for the charm of the tropical vegeta- 
tion and the beauty of tropical birds and butterflies, 
while the German schoolboy knows the favorite food- 
plants of every caterpillar and spends his vacations in 
woodland-rambles and mountain excursions. The very 
nursery-tales of southern and northern Europe express 
that curious contrast. The Spanish recontador edifies 
his infant audience with saintly biographies and miracle 
legends. The German fairy-tales deal in zoological al- 
legories and hunting adventures, and their occasional 
supernaturalism is apt to conceal an unclerical, often, in- 
deed, decidedly anti-clerical tendency. Thus, the sleep- 
ing Barbarossa, the hero of the most popular mediaeval 
legend, has been unmasked as an alias of the red- 
bearded Wodan, the old pagan forest-god, who has 
found refuge in a palace of the mountain-spirits and 
bides the time when the black ravens of Golgotha shall 
cease to darken the sky of his hunting-grounds. 

The champions of the anti-Semitic crusade are com- 
pelled to admit the marvelous fact that in proportion to 
their number the despised Hebrew exiles can produce a 
grander intellectual herald-roll than any other nation of 
ancient or modern times, the Greeks under Pericles per- 

* Witness that memorable old Jafftr-lied: 

*' Nun kehr ich riimmer wieder ins graue Dorf hinab, 
Im Walde will ich leben, im Wald ^abt mir main Grab, 
Womirdess Pfaffen Ktihe nicht drauf zur Weide gehn. 
Das Wild roll drueber springen; Kein Kreuz im Wage stehn." 

haps alone excepted. That marvel, however, is some- 
what modified by the fact that persecution, under cer- 
tain circumstances, tends to stimulate, rather than re- 
press, intellectual activity. For nearly fourteen hundred 
years fanatical intolerance debarred the Hebrew refugees 
from nearly all employments but that of commerce, lit- 
erature and speculative philosophy. They could not 
own land, they could not own mines, they could not 
manufacture, they could not serve the state in the hum- 
blest capacity, they could not even plow : they had to 
huddle together in walled cities for fear of being slain 
by the priest-ridden country population. They had to 
"live by their wits," and those wits according!}' were 
developed far beyond the average intellectual standard 
of each century. No Christian of the middle ages could 
have written the Ethics of Spinoza. No Christian or 
Moorish Spaniard could have composed the epigrams of 
Rabbi Gabirol; and the burgers of Dusseldorf, who a 
month ago voted against the erection of the Heine 
monument, proved that the intellect of their exiled fel- 
low-citizen ranked more than a century ahead of his age. 
Even now, when the gospel of liberty and equality has 
broken the barriers of intolerance, our Hebrew fellow- 
citizens still fight in the front rank of intellectual pro- 
gress. Their names stand high in every department of 
progressive sc~ience, they join the vanguard of every so- 
cial and ethical reform; but at the same time they also 
continue to evince a remarkable indiflFerence to the cul- 
ture of those physical powers which were stunted by the 
bigotry of the middle ages. They practice gymnastics 
in quest of health rather than of pleasure; they shun the 
army, they abhor and avoid the prize-ring. Like the 
sea-faring Greeks, they stick to the pur.-uits that helped 
them to weather long centuries of persecution. 

The Anglo-Saxon race, on the other hand, has 
attained its supremacy literally by victories of the strong 
hand, by martial prowess and physical energy. From 
the time of Odin worship to the invasion of the Normans, 
the countrymen of Hengist and Horsa never met a supe- 
rior foe. From the warlike tribes of northern Germany 
they wrested the richest district of the Danish border, 
as they afterwards wrested Great Britain from the nu- 
merically superior tribes of the Celtic aborigines. 
Their stubborn resistance prevailed against the aggres- 
sive vigor of the Norman conquerors; by their superi- 
ority of physical prowess they ousted their French rivals 
from Canada and Hindostan, and their Holland rivals 
from southern Africa. In peace and war, in the perils 
of the sea, as in the struggle and the wilderness of an 
untamed continent, they learned to rely on expedients of 
physical strength, and the worship of physical fortitude 
thus became a hereditary character-trait of their nation. 
The anti-physical polemics of their creed have proved 
utterly unavailing against that tendency. In " merry 
old England " hard-working rustics would walk scores 



of miles to witness the decision of a wrestling-match or 
an inter-county archery contest, and in the Sabbatarian 
metropolis of Quakerdom the same enthusiasm still 
kindles about every prominent ball-game or foot-race. 
The same newspapers that swell their pages by copying 
the homilies of a Brooklyn revivalist, swell their sub- 
scription list by detailing the exploits of a Boston prize- 




Translated from the German by F. W. Morton. 

Let us imagine a center of condensation in the state 
of greatest laxity or attenuation, and, therefore, subject 
to the maximum value of the negative fluctuation. Were 
it let entirely free, or could it wholly overcome the op- 
position of its environment, it would immediately have 
a tendency to seek the maximum value of condensation. 
Since in a continuous substance each center of condensa- 
tion has to be reckoned with its environment, i. e. has to 
overcome its opposition (for each center of condensation 
seeks of its own accord to attain to the maximum value 
of the positive fluctuation), this maximum value can- 
not be reached at one time, but only by gradual 
steps. The volume of the center of condensation will 
gradually become smaller under thousands of these 
graduations. We have, therefore, to conceive of a cen- 
ter of condensation in unbroken, powerful vibrations of 
contraction, with the help of which it seeks to destroy 
the opposition of its environment. Further, the more 
powerful or energetic these vibrations are, the higher is 
the negative fluctuation ; and the weaker they become, 
the more the center of condensation approaches the max- 
imum value of the positive fluctuation. Thus it accom- 
plishes its pi:rpose and sets free its own action. Accord- 
ing to the fineness of the distinction to be drawn, we can 
interpose between the two maximum values of the neg- 
ative and positive fluctuations an immeasurable scale of 
volumes, i. e. in respect to density, which the center of 
condensation has to traverse by virtue of its contraction 
vibrations. Here we come back to the foundation of 
elementary feeling. 

It is now perfectly clear that when we conceive of 
these vibrations of contraction in the sense just explained 
as a manifestation of mechanical power, we have funda- 
mentally a much safer and more definite idea of the ele- 
mentary condition of matter than that of the former 
conception of matter, and above all of the kinetic. It 
must not here be overlooked that in such a conception of 
matter or substance we have to deal only with the me- 
chanical forin of action. The essence of matter or the 
essence of the indwelling power or energy is a thing 
about which only an ingenuous realist will trouble him- 
self. The first and only point of union for all philoso- 
phies or sciences lies in Xh&form of action and not in the 

nature or essence of the effective power and its material 
embodiment. All that the kinetic philosopher can say 
is that his atom or point moves in transverse vibrations. 
The atom itself is an accepted fact. These circum- 
stances we must always keep clearly in mind when we 
do not wish radically to go astray. 

The concentric vibrations of the centers of condensa- 
tion show us with strict exactness the scope and direc- 
tion of the elementary motions; while the kinetic concep- 
tion of matter clearly proves, even in its fundamental 
basis, the impossibility of such precise statements. Ac- 
cording to the view of the kinetic philosopher, the 
hard atoms must vibrate transversally, in all directions; 
and in these vibrations must strike against one another. 
In this fundamental conception law evidently does not 
prevail, but chance itself, or, in other words, chaos. 
When will such a vibrating atom strike another? How 
can the intermediate spaces be computed or how can a 
phenomenon subject to law, and influenced by time and 
space, be developed from such uncertainties? The ab- 
surdity of such a fundamental conception will clearly 
appear, if, in place of these atoms, we suppose the celes- 
tial bodies to describe such transverse paths of vibration 
instead of elliptical courses. Who would be able to 
demonstrate any one regular occurrence — a world-pro- 
cess — without first accurately determining these trans- 
verse paths of vibration in respect to extension, direc- 
tion, and the possibility of their collision with other 
courses.'' Therefore, not even in respect to the physical 
phenomena, the mechanical occurrences of the world, is 
this kinetic conception of matter applicable, to that for 
which it was simply and solely created. How can any 
one physical explanation, founded upon it, find credence 
when the conception itself in its fundamental basis is 
lame and untenable? 

On the other hand, the contracting vibrations of a 
center of condensation correspond to the above-men- 
tioned accomplishment of a strong and undeviating reg- 
ularity; just as do the transverse motions of the kinetic 
philosopher's atom. Indeed, we may say that they suf- 
fice to explain the monotony which I have censured 
above in the purposeless, vibrating atoms of kinetics. 
Our conception of matter, therefore, is entirely sufficient 
for an explanation of the physical, monotonously regular 
phenomena of the inorganic world, and may be applied, 
treated and elaborated with as much mathematical ex- 
actitude as the kinetic conception of matter. 

But it affords in this respect infinitely more than the 
kinetic conception of matter; it offers us an invaluable 
means for establishing the principle of feeling, for ex- 
plaining the vast realm of organic phenomena which 
even to-day neither the kinetic nor any other conception 
has in the slightest degree made possible. With the 
same right with which the kinetic philosopher postu- 
lates a purely mechanical, i. e. a blindly acting and pur- 



poseless force, we may assume the world-substance to 
be 2l feeling substance and represent the motions or vi- 
brations of contraction fundamentally as expressions or 
phenomena of feeling. Moreover, in its rude outlines, 
the idea of such contractile centers of condensation as a 
feeling substance offers us no difficulty. But let us ap- 
ply ourselves directly to the problem. 

The world-process, which goes on before our eyes, 
bears in itself one unmistakable characteristic. Not alone 
the mvestigation of our own narrow place of abode, but 
even the physics of the stars, decipher from the bright 
orbs of the firmament the mysterious purpose which the 
whole world-process follows; and this, mechanically ex- 
pressed, can be sought in nothing else than in condeiisa- 
tion. The Ionic philosophers have already given ex- 
pression to this thought. The condensation of the 
spheres, as the end of all physical processes, changes 
and formations, stands so unassailably before our scien- 
tific mind, that no further foundation for this is needed. 
In these cosmical changes is mirrored the fundamental 
tendency of the elementary centers of condensation. 

Now, how near lies the thought of attributing to 
these centers of condensation, a% feeling entities, the ef- 
fort or tendency to attain in the positive maximum value 
of condensation an absolute condition of rest. This 
maximum value incorporates for us the absolute rest^ 
Nirvana^ the sinki?ig into peaceful, unconscious noth- 
ingness. In opposition to this each negative fluctuation 
drives the center of condensation from this condition of 
repose and leads it to activitj^ to conscious feeling, to 
pleasure, perhaps to pain, as elementary qualities of feeling. 

At a single blow, the contracting motions of a conden- 
sation center receive, in this way, a sense, which seems 
• to me furfoseful^ they are the expression of an effort 
which accomplishes a purpose, a real world-purpose. 
The whole mechanism of the world rests upon this, that 
a part of the world-substance can attain to this end only 
at the expense of another. While a part of the matter 
strives for the condition of repose, another part, accord- 
ing to the views expressed above, falls to feeling activ- 
ity. Life and death go always hand in hand. 

If we revert now to the above-mentioned scale of 
volumes, or vibrations of contraction, we can very easily 
bring this, as a phenomenon of motion founded purely 
upon mechanics, into connection with a corresponding 
scale of fcclitig ; and that, too, so that each vibration of 
contraction of a different value corresponds also to a dif- 
ferent mode of feeling, and brings to expression each 
shade in the life of feeling. To every mechanical mo- 
tion of contraction corresponds a moment of feeling ; to 
speak in the sense of Spinoza, to each outer mechanical 
moment of activity corresponds an inner activity of feel- 
ing, and as every mechanical vibration of contraction is 
of different value different qualities of feeling correspond 
to these values. 

We have now scarcely any standard or point of ref- 
erence by which to rank together in an unbroken scale 
the immeasurable series of feelings as they manifest 
themselves in our ego. We can only hypothetically 
assume, that, e. g. the modes of feeling of the five-sense 
categories follow one another; that they perhaps pos- 
sess the approximate means of a scale of feeling; that is, 
that they would correspond approximately to the 
medium degree of density of the centers of condensation. 
We are possibly right in this assumption, since the 
modes of feeling of the five-sense categories are, in com- 
parison with the feelings of pleasure and pain, of more 
indifferent nature. The vast series of pleasurable feel- 
ings would perhaps fall in the positive direction; while 
the feelings of discomfort and pain would belong to the 
negative end of the scale. For, the higher the negative 
fluctuation which the center of condensation suffers, the 
more will it be threatened in its duration, the more 
will it be removed from its real end and purpose, the 
more correct shall we be in supposing here a feeling 
of pain, and with it the energetic effort to escape this 
painful condition by means of powerful vibrations of 
contraction. I suggest, as I said, this comparison only 
as an hypothesis. 

The chief thing, is that we are to ascribe to each sep- 
arate vibration of contraction, and therefore to each 
change of volume in a center of condensation, a different 
quality of feeling, just as in physics each definite color 
or line in the spectrum corresponds to some one wave of 
ether. Thus, just as in the scale of color the different 
modes of feeling merge into one another by thousands 
of gradual transitions, so without doubt we are to class 
together all other sensations, feelings and effects in the 
fundamental scale of the whole. 

Now, it must at once be apparent that these funda- 
mental expressions of feeling only have sense when they 
are joined with consciousness, i, e. occur simply as con- 
scious feelings. For what in general would unconscious 
feelings signify.? We can at most distinguish different 
degrees of brightness or intensity of the conscious feel- 
ing. If, for instance, we put our head between our 
legs, and a state of tension be produced in the seat of 
consciousness by the increased flow of blood to the brain, 
we see nature in more beautiful colors. The blue of 
heaven is more intense, the green of the meadows 
stronger. On the other hand, in our intellectual images 
(in distinction from the immediate images of perception), 
we see paler colors and vaguer forms. We can here 
evidently speak only of different degrees of brightness 
and intensity of the conscious feeling. These degrees of 
brightness can be subjected to any fluctuations what- 
ever, fluctuations however which move only within 
definite bounds and at most, apparently, within very 
narrow ones. 

An unconscious, and therefore a feelingless, condition 



will first be reached when the centers of condensation draw 
near to the maximum value of the positive fluctuation 
and finally reach it. This maximum value alone, or the 
approach to it, signifies unconsciousness, absolute rest, 
sinking into Nirvana, nothingness; removal from this 
means conscious feeling, life, activity, pleasure and pain. 
In this, however, one thing must be observed, viz., 
that in this fundamental scale of feeling only the simple 
elementary qualities of feeling, as we find them in our 
living senses, perceptions and feelings, can have place. 
It would be idle to seek to enroll here, already formed, 
any form of activity like an organized principle, or any 
intellectual function like the idea of space, etc. There 
are products of development which are first distinguished 
in a far advanced world-process, and which must be con- 
ceived of and pronounced as characteristics of the great 
realm of organic phenomena. 


The essay by J. G. Vogt on "The Fundamental Prop- 
erties of Matter " causes me to express the following 
definition of my understanding of the monistic position: 

The relation of the chicken to the egg is this, that 
the egg contains all the substance and forms which will 
through interaction evolve the live chicken as it breaks 
through the shell. Only warmth has to come to it from 
the outside and perhaps some oxygen through the pores 
of the"shell. 

In a similar relation man of to-day stands to our 
earth with the influence of the sun and all cosmical 
surroundings, as they were at the time when organic 
life apparently commenced on earth — certainly in the 
most simple forms. Out of the joint action of all there 
was then, which has since been acting together, the 
present man has resulted, and not from a certain atom 
or a certain portion of matter. The whole earth with 
all its surroundings stands in place of the egg. The 
chicken results from the egg in three weeks; man has 
resulted from the primeval earth in millions of years. 
Edward C. Heghler. 


The comparison of the primeval earth to an egg is 
most obvious, and serves exquisitely as a monistic ex- 
planation of evolution at large. Indeed, the theory of 
evolution was first brought to light by observing the 
chicken develop from the egg. The egg afforded a 
clue to comparative embryology, and comparative em- 
bryology is the basis of the evolution theory. 

But we must bear in mind that an allegory is always 
imperfect; as the Romans said, omne simile claudicat — 
it limps; and if it did not, if it were applicable in every 
respect, it would not be a simile; it would be an identity. 
Similes are illustrative and instructive, but we must ob- 
serve wherein the simile is not adequate. 

The diflference between an egg and the primitive 
earth (or perhaps the nebula from which the sun and 
his planets developed), is this: A chicken existed be- 
fore the egg, and the egg develops a chicken because 
it contains the memories .of many millions of chicken 
ancestors. The egg would not exist but for the hen. 
The hen transmits certain forms of motion which are the 
sum total of all the experiences of herself and her ances- 
tors to a part of her body, the ovule. The ovule, when 
fertilized, grows and is excreted as an egg. 

The famous question, "Which was first, the hen or 
the egg?" must be answered: "Neither." Living pro- 
toplasm was first, which under certain conditions pro- 
duced the egg-bearing hen. 

A nebula contains all the conditions for producing a 
planetary system, and on the surface of its planets 
worlds like ours. Matter, it must be assumed, possesses 
the qualities of motion and elementary feeling; it can 
merely through combination in a long process of evolution 
develop the higher forms of existence, organic life, con- 
sciousness and rational will. This evolution is inherent 
in matter, and is no process of evolving transmitted 
memories which contain a special form of life and only 
that form. There is no world-hen who imparted her 
experiences and intelligence to the produce of her crea- 
tion. Such a conception of evolution, which places its 
outcome and its ideal aim at the beginning, leads to 
dualism. It assumes a transcendent and supernatural 
creator, and is forgetful of the fact that it would have 
been an imwise, not to s»y reckless and immoral, act for 
a being in the grand state of all-perfection to produce a 
world which on the thorny path of immeasurable pain 
and constant self-sacrifice had, with trouble, to climb up 
to higher stages of existence. 

The only solution which is offered as a monistic con- 
ception of the world is to assume that matter is not dead, 
but active, viz. : it possesses motion and elementary feel- 
ing, from which the higher forms of life are produced. 
Evolution is development of form. The progress of 
evolution produces forms which never before existed, 
and in the struggle for existence some forms perish per- 
haps forever, while others, adapted to their surroundings 
and improved so as to acquire more power of resistance 
to destructive influences, survive. p. c. 


My soul drinks in its future life. 

Like some green forest thrice cut down. 

Whose shoots defy the axman's strife, 
And skyward spread a greener crown. 

While sunshine gilds my aged head 

And boimteous earth supplies my food, 

The lamps of God their soft light shed 
And distant worlds are understood. 




Say not my soul is but a clod, 

Resultant of my body's powers; 
She plumes her wings to fly to God, 

And will not rest outside His bowers. 

The winter's snows are on my brow, 
But summer's suns more brightly glow. 

And violets, lilacs, roses now 

Seem sweeter than long years ago. 

As I approach my earthly end. 

Much plainer can I hear afar 
Immortal symphonies which blend 

To welcome me from star to star. 

Though marvelous, it still is plain; 

A fairy tale, yet history; 
Losing earth, a heaven we gain — 

With death win immortality. 

For fifty years my willing pen 

In history, drama and romance. 
With satires, sonnets or with men, 

Has flown or danced its busy dance. 

All themes I tried, and yet I know 
Ten thousand times as much unsaid 

Remains in me! It must be so. 

Though ages should not find the dead. 

When unto dust we turn once more, 
We can say, " one day's work's done," 

We may say, "our work is o'er;" 
For life will scarcely have begun. 

The tomb is not an endless night; 

It is a thoroughfare — a way 
That closes in a soft twilight 

And opens in eternal day. 

Moved by the love of God, I find 
That I must work, as did Voltaire, 

Who loved the world and all mankind; 
But God is Love! Let none despair! 

Our work on earth is just begun; 

Our monuments will later rise, 
To bathe their summits in the sun. 

And shine in God's eternal skies! 

— Translated by Row. 



To the Editor: Port Reed, Fla., March 15th, 1S8S. 

In the controversy about the immanence or transcendentality 
of force in matter, does not that wonderfully plastic enunciation 
of Goethe's, of which (I fear inadequately) I attempt the following 
translation, come in as an analogy : — 

The God whose beings in mine showers, 

Can rouse my soul to active will ; 
The God whose throne's beyond my powers, 
For purpose, will and deed is nil. 
If the form of the translation is insufficient, it interprets at 
least, I think, what is essentially the thought of the great German 
poet. Yours truly, 

Dr. Lindorme. 

[Dr. Lindorme's translation is very expressive. Bayard 
Taylor's version does not seem to be quite so clear and strong, 
although he translates more literally. 

" The God that in my breast is owned, 
Can deeply stir the inner sources; 
The God above my powers enthroned. 
He cannot chanj^e external forces." 
The translation by Charles T. Brooks is not correct in line 3 : 

" The God who dwells within my soul 
Can heave its depths at any hour, 
Who holds o'er all ray faculties control. 
Has o'er the outer world no power." 

The original words are taken from Faust I, 4: 
Der Goti, der mir im Busen wohnt, 

Kajni fie/ mgin Intterstes erre^eii ; 
Der uber alien meinen Kr'aften thront, 

Er kann nach aussen nichts bewe^en. 

The passage is of great importance and it will repay the 
trouble of reading it over with its context. It contains the chief 
reason for Faust's complaint and pessimism, which must be 
looked for in his dualistic conception of God and life. 

Faust says that he will presumably feel the pain of life in 
every attire: 

In jedein KUide -werd ich vjohl die Pein 
Des zngen Erdenlebens fiihlen. 
[In every dress I well may feel the sore 
Of this low earth-life's melancholy.] 

—Translated by Brooks. 
The world can offer nothing : 

Was kann die Welt mir luohlgeruahren ? 
[What from the world have I to gain ?]— 5roofo. 
Certainly a God who lives in his bosom can stir his will^ and 
rouse his enthusiasm ; but the supernatural God is helpless. Faust 
feels himself, on the one hand, too old for mere play, too earnest 
and enlightened to be a puppet in God's marionette-theatre: 
Zit att bin ich urn nur zu spielen. 
[1 am too old merely to play.*] 

And on the other hand he feels too young to live without 

aspiration ; 

Zujung um ohne Wttnsch zu sein. 

[Too young to wish for nothing more.']— Brooks. 
He yearns for freedom, the chance of independent work and. 
creative activity. Yet, as a marionette, he must renounce all 
hope : 

E-ntbehren sollsldu, sollst entbehren. 
Das ist der eivige Gesang^ 
Derjedem an die Ohren klingt. 
[Renounce, renounce, Renunciation — 
Such is the everlasting song. 
That in the ears o£ all men t\t>%%.\— Brooks. 

Faust laments that "every day kills 
Every presentiment of zest 
W'lth wayward scepticism, chases 
The fair creation from his [my] breast. 
With all life's thousand cold grimaces. —Brooks. 
{^Der selbst die Ahnnng Jeder Lust » 

Mit eigensinngem Krittel mindert^ 
Die ScliSpfung meiner regen Brust 
Mit tausend Lebensfratzen hinder t. J 

. *The translators introduce here words which lead astray. Bayard Taylor 
translates ■' I am too old to play with passion." Ch.arles T. Brooks' version is 
better: "I am too old to live for folly." 



So by the burden of my days oppressed, 

Death is desired and life a thing unblessed. — Bayard Taylor. 
[ Und so ist mir das Dasein sine Last^ 
Der Tod erwUnscht, das Leben mir verhasst,'\ 

Magic cannot cure Faust's longing, and his yearning for 
the intercourse with the world of spirits affords no satisfaction. 
His life is a course of errors, until he finds at the end of his 
career, peace, contentment and salvation in work in energetic 
activity. The field of his labor is not some supernatural dream- 
land, but this world of ours, and he devotes his efforts to the 
benefit of human kind: 

To many millions let me furnish soil. 
Though not secure, yet free to active toil; 
Green, fertile fields, where men and herds go forth 
At once, with comfort on the newest earth, 
And swiftly settled on the hill's firm base. 
Created by the bold, industrious race. 
A land like Paradise here, round about; 
Up to the brink the tide may roar without. 
And though it gnaw to burst with force the limit. 
By common impulse all unite to hem it. 
Yes, to this thought I hold with firm persists nee; 
The last result of wisdom stamps it true; 
He only earns his jreedovi atid existence 
Who daily conquers them aneiv. 
Thus here by dangers girt, shall glide away 
Of childhood, manhood, age, the vigorous day; 
And such a throng I fain would see 

Stand on free soil among a people free! — Bayard Taylor. 
Bayard Taylor says in his note to the quoted passage: "If 
Faust has only given 'free activity' and not absolute 'security' to 
the millions who shall corne, he sees, at last, the great value of 
their very insecurity, as an agent which shall keep alive the vir- 
tues of vigilance, association and the unselfish labor of each for 
the common good." 

Thus Faust finds atonement in Monism; he finds satisfaction 
and the peace of his soul not in the rest of leisurely security but 
in a constant struggle for freedom and existence. He is no longer 
a tool in the hands of some one beyond, since his freedom is the 
result of his own action. It is a boon of the God who lives in 
his bosom. 

The contemplation of his plans and their realization thrills 
Faust with joy. It is a moment of rapture filled with the bliss of 
eternity and in the hour of his death he feels the spell of immor- 
tality—of an immanent immortality. 

Then dared I hail the moment fleeing: 
"Ah, still delay — thou art so fair!" 
The traces cannot of mine earthly'bei/ig. 

In ceons perish — they are there I 
In proud fore-feeling of such lofty bliss, 
I now enjoy the highest moment — this! — Bayard Taylor. 



Mr. Hegeler: March 19, iSSS. 

Dear Sir — I cannot join " A Monist," in No. 29, in his desire 
that everything save technical Monism should be excluded from 
The Open Court. I trust your journal will take a wider career 
than that — will fill the place, now unoccupied, of leader of the 
liberal press of this country. I am glad it has written Monism on 
its banner, but cannot it find room to write Liberalism beside it.' 
Few understand how prevalent liberalism is among the educated 
people of the United States, and how much in need it stands of an 
organ, tiearly all the able writers are liberals, and their contri- 
butions would insure the success of a journal pledged to that 
cause. The Open Court has already offered on its title page, 
among others, the names of Col. Higginson, Mr. Parton and 
John Burroughs; of Felix Oswald, W. L. Garrison and Thos. 
Davidson. These are names which command the instant atten- 
tion of every intelligent man in the country — of every man whose 

attention is ixiorih commanding. One could easily name twenty- 
five others whose signatures are of equal value to any new jour- 
nal seeking to gain an intelligent public hearing. They are all 
liberals. It would be hard, indeed, to find a writer of national 
reputation, of commanding position, who is not a liberal. But 
while these leaders of national thought contribute to the literature 
of fiction and criticism and art and science, there is no avenue, 
no special literary organ, by which they can reach the public, 
and by which the public can hear them, on questions of ethics and 
religion and philosophy. New journals usually have to work 
hard and long to gain the public ear, but here is an opportunity 
ready provided. 

Turning to Monism, all philosophical readers of The Open 
Court must await with deep interest the fuller exposition of this 
new system. " A Monist" seems to think that a more definite 
statement of its principles, such as other philosophies and theol- 
ogies offer, would be acceptable to readers, and this is my impres- 
sion also. I presume I am like the other special workers in 
philosophy and psychology in this country — it would be a pleas- 
ure to respond to The Open Court's friendly invitation to 
comment on its system of belief, but this is impossible until the 
sj'Stem is more definitely outlined. It would be an aid, for 
example, to know what the AH is; whether it is simply every- 
thing that exists and may exist, or a distinct entity with attributes, 
and what the attributes are. Spinoza had an All which he named 
Universal Substance; would not a comparison of the two be an ex- 
cellent method of elucidation.' Faithfully yours, A Liberal. 

To the Editor: 

In answer to " A Monist," in No. 29 of The Open Court, 
allow me to say that I prefer the title Open Court, and I think 
it the most appropriate for a journal devoting its work to concilia- 
ting religion with science. The journal can always be monistic, 
but it must also be an Open Court, where all sides can have a 
hearing and a fair trial before judgment is pronounced. The 
articles mentioned by "A Monist" were certainly very interesting 
and intended to elevate the moral and social standing of humanity 
and this should be the first object of every human being. I am a 
believer in the monistic theory of the universe, but Monism as 
well as all other isms will be a failure unless intended to bring 
about Monism between rich and poor, that is, the recognilion of 
equality and dependence on one another. This cannot be done 
by any state law or force, and the social problem will not be 
solved until ethics and morality are placed above all isms and 
religion, when every man will say with Thomas Paine: This 
world is my Country, to do good is my Religion. 

Yours, etc., G. H. Scheel. 


Idyls and Lyrics of the Ohio Valley. By John James 

Piatt. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

These poems are what their title partially explains, descriptive 
of Western pioneer life and its natural scenery, if it is any longer 
permissible to locate the field of the Western pioneer so far east 
as Ohio. But all things are relative, even those limits to a 
cultured civilization laid down in geographical lines, and to a 
certain order of Eastern imagination we do not doubt the "lucky" 
state of Ohio is quite far enough removed for even its strongest 
stretching to include. Most of Mr. Piatt's poems deal with 
themes drawn from nature and the homely experiences of farm 
and country life. He is essentially an out-doors poet, and there 
is here a singular, some would say refreshing, absence of the 
spirit of modern introspection, doubt and distrust of life and the 



universe's worth. Mr. Piatt's verse is everywhere characterized 
by its objectivity — a rare virtue among any class of writers in this 
day — and that will bear fruit among his readers, doubtless, in 
teaching them to follow his example and look outside themselves 
for life's main joy and instruction. c. P. w. 

The Second Son. By M. O. W. Olip/iant and T. B. Aldrich. 

Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

Readers of this story in the serial form, as it appeared in The 
Atlantic Monthly, were struck by the singular cliaracter of its 
double authorship. The combination of the serene, intellectual 
traits, united to a high order of English respectability and com- 
monplaceness, represented in Mrs. Oliphant, with a genius as 
tricky and unique and wholly modern and American as Aldrich's 
was as strange as it was unexpected. Yet the amalgamation of 
the two authors has been more successfully accomplished than 
was expected, and we should not like to accept the task of separa- 
ting and naming the part of either in the work before us. The 
story has a decidedly English atmosphere and flavor, but we sus- 
pect some of the finer strokes in the delineation of Lily's charac- 
ter are by another's hands than her compatriot's. Anyway the 
story aftbrds pleasant reading and is an excellent study of those 
mixed and warring social conditions that are found in the older 
civilizations across seas. c. p. w. 


The English in the West Indies. By James Anthony Fronde. 

New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. 

Mr. Froude is a voluminous writer whose reputation rests 
chiefly on his "History of England," his various essays entitledi 
"Short Studies onGreat Subjects," his extravagant biography of 
Caesar, and the remarkable course he pursued as Carlyle's literary- 
executor. Mr. Froude has scarcely recovered from the numerous 
attacks that the critics made on him on account of the Carlyle 
papers, when, by the publication of this latest volume, he again 
exposes himself. The great redeeming feature of our author's 
work is his style. But it is like beauty without character. Mr. 
Froude contradicts himself; his statements are full of inaccu- 
racies, and, lastly, his method of making his point, to say the 
least, calls for disapprobation. 

The object of the whole book is to make an attack on Glad- 
stone and to show that home-rule ought not to be granted to Ire- 
land. E. G. B. 

The colored print of Gladible in the March number of the 
Art Amateur is almost inevitably somewhat raw in color, and yet 
it is very effective at a proper distance by its admirable grouping 
and strong relief. The wood cuts scattered through the number 
are bold and free, especially the Breton Ferry by Walter Satter- 
lee. " Animal Locomotion" gives an account of the work done 
by instantaneous photography in giving us the exact positions of 
the limbs in violent motion. It is pleasant to find that in many 
cases the unrelenting photograph confirms the drawing of those 
artists who have been celebrated for their skill in painting ani- 
mals. They will certainly afford valuable materials for artists' 
study even if they need not be literally copied. The number is 
mainly devoted to designs for household furniture and other 
branches of decorative art. An interesting paragraph gives an 
account of the process of photographing by " the flash light." 
If this is brought to perfection it will certainly produce many 
beautiful and wonderful results and light up the dark places most 
effectively. It has been found especially useful in fost mortem 
photography, which is often of great importance. An amusing 
novelty, called " The Transition Portrait," is also mentioned, by 
which two or more phases of the human countenance are pre- 
sented in one photograph. Other practical improvements in the 
photograph are also recorded. 




A few hours after his friend had left the estate, the 
Professor entered the study of the proprietor, who ex- 
claimed, looking up from his work: "The gypsies have 
disappeared, and with them your friend. We are all sorry 
that the Doctor could not remain longer." 

" With you lies the decision whether I shall linger 
here," rejoined the Professor, with such deep earnest- 
ness that the host arose, and looked inquiringly at his 
guest. " I come to ask a great boon of you," continued the 
Professor, " and I must depart hence if you refuse it me." 

" Speak out, Professor," replied he. 

"It is impossible for us to continue any longer in the 
easy relations of host and guest. I seek to gain the 
affections of your daughter Use." 

The proprietor started, and the hand of the strong 
man grasped the table. 

" I know what I am asking of you," cried the Pro- 
fessor, with an outburst of feeling. " I am calling upon 
you to give me your greatest treasure; I know that it will 
make your life poorer, for I shall deprive you of that 
which has been your joy, help and pride." 

"And so," murmured the proprietor, gloomily, "you 
anticipate what the father would say." 

" I fear that at this moment you consider me an in- 
truder into the peace of your home," continued the 
Professor; "but though it may be difficult for you to be 
indulgent towards me, you ought to know all. I first saw 
her in the church, and her religious fervor impressed 
me powerfully. I have lived in the house with her, 
and felt more every hour how beautiful and lovable she 
is. The influence she exercises over me is irresistible. 
The passion with which she has inspired me has become 
so great, that the thought of being separated from her 
fills me with dismay. I long to be united to her and 
to make her my wife." 

Thus spoke the scholar, as ingenuously as a child. 

"And to what extent have you shown your feelings 
to my daughter?" asked the father. 

" I have twice in an outburst of feeling pressed her 
hand," answered the Professor. 
. " Have you ever spoken to her of your love?" 

" If I had I should not stand before you now as I 
do," rejoined the Professor. " I am entirely unknown 
to you, and was brought here by peculiar circum- 
stances; and I am not in the happy position of a wooer 
who can appeal to a long acquaintance. You have 
shown me unusual hospitality, and I am in duty bound 
not to abuse your confidence. I will not, unbeknown to 
you, endeavor to win a heart which is so closely bound 
up in your life." 




The father inclined his head assentingly. "And 
have you the assurance of winning her love?" 

" I am no child and can see that she is warmly at- 
tached to me. But of the depth and duration of the 
feelings of a young girl neither of us can judge. At 
times I have had the blessed conviction that she had a 
tender feeling for me, but it is just the unembarrassed in- 
nocence of her feelings that makes me uncertain; and I 
"must confess to you that I think it possible these feelings 
may pass away." 

The father looked at this man who was endeavoring 
to judge impartially, but whose whole frame was trem- 
bling. " It is, sir, my duty to j ield to the wishes of my 
cliild's heart, if they are powerful enough to induce her to 
leave her home for that of another man — provided that 
I myself have not the conviction that it would be detri- 
mental to her happiness. Your acquaintance with my 
daughter has been so short that I do not feel myself in 
the difficult position of having to give my consent, or to 
make my daughter unhappy, and your confession makes 
it possible for me to prevent what would, perhaps, in 
many respects, be unwelcome to me. Indeed, you are 
even now a stranger, and when I invited you to stay 
with us I did something that may have an unfortunate 
result for me and mine." 

As the proprietor spoke thus in the excitement of 
the moment, his eyes fell upon the arm which had 
bled yesterday, and then on the manly features of the 
pale countenance before him. He broke off his speech, 
and laying his hand on the shoulder of the other ex- 
claimed : — 

" No, that is not the feeling of my heart, and I 
ought not to answer you thus." 

He paced up and down the room endeavoring to 
be composed. 

" But you also must listen to a word in confidence, 
and do not be angry with me," he continued, more tran- 
quilly. " I know very well that I have not brought up my 
daughter for myself, and that I must at some time ac- 
custom myself to do without her; but our acquaintance 
is too short to judge whether my child would find peace 
or happiness if she were united to you. When I tell 
you that I esteem you and take pleasure in your society, 
that has nothing to do with the present question. If 
you were a country gentleman like me, I should listen 
•to your communications with a lighter heart, for during 
the time of your stay here I should have been able to 
form a decided opinion of your qualifications. The dif- 
ference of our vocations makes it not only difficult for me 
to judge of you, but also dangerous for the future of my 
child. If a father wishes that his daughter should maiTy 
a man who has similar occupations to himself, he is just- 
ified in so doing in every sphere of life, and more espe- 
cially as a country gentleman of my stamp; for the 
qualifications of our children consist partly in this, that 

they grow up as the helpmeets of their parents. What 
Use has learnt in my house gives me the assurance that, 
as the wife of a country gentleman, she would fill her 
place perfectly; nay, she might supply the deficiencies of 
her husband, and that would secure her a comfort- 
able life, even though there were something more to be 
desired in the husband. As the wife of a Professor, she 
will have little use for what she knows, and she will 
feel unhappy at not having learnt many other things." 

" I admit that she will be deprived of much; I lay 
little stress on what you might call her deficiencies," 
said the Professor. "I request you to trust this matter 
to me and the future." 

" Then, Professor, I will answer you as candidly as 
you have spoken to me. I must not decline your propo- 
sal hastily. I will not oppose what may perhaps be for 
the happiness of my daughter; and yet I cannot, with 
the imperfect knowledge which I have of your position, 
agree to it. 1 am at this moment in the awkward posi- 
tion of not knowing how I can obtain this knowledge." 

" I can well understand how unsatisfactory to you 
must be any opinion concerning me which you may 
obtain from strangers; yet you will have to be content 
to do so," answered the Professor with dignity. 

The father assented silently. 

" First, I beg to inform you concerning my financial 

He mentioned his income, gave a faithful account of 
the sources from which he derived it, and laid a written 
statement on the writing-table. 

" My legal adviser, who bears a high repute in the 
University, will give you any confirmation you may 
wish of these details. With respect to my capacity as 
teacher and my position at the University, I must refer 
you to the judgment of my colleagues and the opinion 
which is held concerning it in the city." 

The proprietor looked at the statement. 

" Even the significance of these sums as regards 
your position is not quite clear to me. Having no ac- 
quaintance in your town, I have no facilities for obtain- 
ing further information concerning you. But, Profes- 
sor, I will without delay endeavor to obtain all the in- 
formation I can. I will start for your home to-morrow." 

" Oh, I thank you," exclaimed the Professor, grasp- 
ing his hand. 

" Not yet," answered he, withdrawing it. 

" I will, of course, if you like, accompany you," con- 
tinued the Professor. 

" I do not wish that," replied the proprietor. " Only 
write letters of introduction for me to your acquaint- 
ances; for the rest I must rely upon my own inquiries 
and on chance. But, Professor, this journey will only 
confirm your statements, of the truth of which I am 
already convinced, and I may obtain the judgment of 
others concerning you, which will no doubt accord 



with mine. But let us suppose that the information is 
satisfactory to me, what will be the consequence?" 

" That you will permit me to prolong my stay in 
your house," said the Professor; " that you will trustingly 
permit me to pay my addresses to your daughter and 
that you will give your consent to our marriage as soon 
as I am certain of your daughter's affection." 

" Such arrangements for wooing are uncommon," 
said the father, with a saddened smile; "but they are 
not unwelcome to a farmer. We are accustomed to see 
fruits ripen slowly. Thus, Professor, after my journey 
we shall all three retain freedom of choice and a final 
decision. This conversation must remain secret." 

" That is also my desire," said the Professor. 

Again a slight smile flitted over the grave counte- 
nance of the host. 

" In order to make so sudden a journey less surpris- 
ing you had better remain here; but, during my absence, 
refrain from any increase of intimacy with my daughter. 
You see what great confidence I place in you." 

Thus the Professor had compelled his host to become 
the confidant of his love. It was a delightful compact 
between passion and conscience that the scholar had 
entered into, and yet there was an error in this arrange- 
ment. The agreement, which he had effected with 
eager spirit and beating heart, turned out a little differ- 
ent to what he had represented to himself and to the 
father; for, between the three individuals who were 
now to enter upon this high-minded method of wooing, 
all easy intercourse had suddenly vanished. When Use, 
beaming with happiness, met the gentleman on the 
morning of the eventful conversation, she found her 
heaven obscured and overshadowed with dark clouds. 
The Professor was uneasy and gloomy ; he worked 
almost the whole day in his room, and when the little 
ones in the evening begged him to tell them some stories, 
he declined, took hold of the head of the little sister 
with both hands, kissed her forehead and laid his own 
head upon it as if he wished the child to support him. 
The words that he addressed to Use were few and con- 
strained, and yet his eyes were fixed incessantly upon 
her, but inquiringly and doubtingly ; and Use was sur- 
prised also at her father, who appeared absent-minded 
and sorrowful. A secret had arisen between her father 
and herself that deeply absorbed him ; nay, even between 
the two men matters were not as they had been. Her 
father, indeed, spoke sometimes in a low voice, to the 
friend, but she observed a constraint in both when they 
talked on indifferent subjects. 

Then the next morning there was the secret journey 
of the father, which in few words he described, as on 
unimportant business. Had everything changed about 
her since that eventful evening? Her heart beat 
anxiously. A sense of insecurity came over her — the 
fear of something that would be adverse to her. Sor- 

rowfully she withdrew to her room, where she 
struggled with bitter thoughts and avoided being alone 
with the man she loved. 

Of course the change in the loved one became at 
once perceptible to the Professor, and it tortured the 
sensitive man. Did she wish to repel him in order not 
to abandon her father? Had that been only pleased 
astonishment which he had taken for affection of the 
heart? These anxieties made, his demeanor constrained 
and unequal, and the change in his frame of mind 
worked again upon Use. 

She had joyfully opened the flower-bud of her soul 
to the rising light, but a drop of morning dew had fallen 
into it and the tender petals had closed again under the 

Use had acted as doctress to all the illnesses and 
wounds that happened on the estate; she had succeeded 
her mother in this honorable ofliice; her fame in the dis- 
trict was not small, and it was not an unnecessary 
accomplishment, for Rossau did not possess even one 
regular practitioner. Use knew how to apply her 
simple remedies admirably; even her father and the 
inspectors submitted themselves obediently to her care. 
She had become so accustomed to the vocation of a 
Sister of Charity that it did not shock her maidenly 
feelings to sit by the sick-bed of a working man, 
and she looked without prudery at the wound which 
had been caused by the kick of a horse and the cut 
of a scythe. Now the loved one was near her with 
his wound, not even keeping his arm in a sling, and she 
was fearful lest the injury should become greater. How 
glad she would have been to see the place and to have 
bandaged it herself! — and in the morning, at breakfast, 
she entreated him, pointing to his arm : " Will you not, 
for our sakes, do something for it?" 

The Professor, embarrassed, drew his arm back and 
replied, " It is too insignificant." 

She felt hurt, and remained silent; but when he 
went to his room her anxiety became overpowering. 
She sent the charwoman, who was her trusty assistant 
in this art, with a commission to him, and enjoined her 
to enter with an air of decision and, overcoming any 
opposition of the gentleman, to examine the arm and 
report to her. When the honest woman said that she 
was sent by the young lady and that she must insist 
upon seeing the wound, the Professor, though hesitat- 
ingly, consented to show his arm; but when the mes- 
senger conveyed a doubtful report, and Use, who had 
been pacing restlessly up and down before the door, 
again ordered cold poultices through her deputy, the 
Professor would not apply them. He had good 
reason; for however painfully he felt the constraint 
that was imposed upon him in his intercourse with Use; 
yet he felt it would be insupportable entirely to lose 
siffht of her and sit alone in his room with a basin of 



water. His rejection of her good counsel, however, 
grieved Use still more; for she feared the consequences, 
and, besides, it pained her that he would not accede to 
her wishes. When, afterwards, she learnt that he had 
secretly sent to Rossau for a surgeon, tears came into 
her eyes, for she considered it as a slight. She knew 
the pernicious remedies of the drunken quack and 
she was sure that evil would result from it/ She 
struggled with herself until evening; at last, anxiety 
for her beloved overcame all considerations, and when 
he was sitting with the children in the arbor, she, with 
anguish of heart and downcast eyes, thus entreated him : 
" This stranger will occasion you greater pain. I pray 
you, let me see the wound." 

The Professor, alarmed at this prospect which 
threatened to upset all the self-control which he had 
attained by laborious struggling, answered, as Use 
fancied, in a harsh tone — but, in truth, he was only a 
little hoarse through inward emotion — " I thank you, 
but I cannot allow that." 

Use then caught hold of her brother and sister who 
had been in the hands of the gypsies, placed them before 
him, and exclaimed eagerly : " Do you beseech him, ii 
he will not listen to me." 

This little scene was so moving to the Professor 
and Use looked, in her excitement, so irresistibly lovely, 
that his composure was overpowered; and, in order to 
remain faithful to the father, he rose and went rapidly 
out of the garden. 

Use pressed her hands convulsively together and 
gazed wildly before her. All had been a dream; the 
hope she had entertained in a happy hour that he loved 
her had been a delusion and she had revealed her heart 
to him and her warm feelings had appeared to him as 
the bold forwardness of a stranger. She was in his 
eyes an awkward country girl, deficient in the refined 
feelings of the city, who had got something into her 
foolish head because he had sometimes spoken to her 
kindly. She rushed into her room ; there she sank 
down before her couch and her whole frame shook with 
convulsive sobs. 

She was not visible for the rest of the evening. 
The following day she met the loved one proudly and 
coldly, said no more than was necessary and struggled 
secretly with tears and endless sorrow. 

All had been arranged for a refined and decorous 
wooing; but when two human beings love each other 
they ought to tell each other so frankly and simply 
without any previous arrangement, and, indeed — with- 
out reserve. 

The father had started on his journey ; he gave as 
an excuse some business which he meant to transact on 
the road. The day following his powerful form and 
anxious countenance might be seen in the streets of the 
University town. Gabriel was much astonished when a 

gigantic man, taller than his old friend the sergeant- 
major of the cuirassiers, rang at the door and brought a 
letter from his master, in which Gabriel was ordered to 
place himself and the lodging at the disposal of the 
gentleman. The stranger walked through the rooms, 
sat down at the Professor's writing-table and began a 
cross-questioning conversation with Gabriel, the tenor 
of which the servant could not understand. The stranger 
also greeted Herr Hummel, then went to the University, 
stopped the students in the street and made inquiries of 
them; had a conference with the lawyer; visited a mer- 
chant with whom he had had dealings in corn; was 
conducted by Gabriel to the Professor's tailor, there to 
order a coat, and Gabriel had to wait long at the door 
before the gossiping tailor would let the stranger go. 
He also went to Herr Hahn to buy a straw hat ; and in 
the evening the tall figure might be seen uncomfortably 
bent under the Chinese temple, sitting by Herr Hahn, 
with a flask of wine. It was a poor father anxiously 
seeking from indiflFerent people intelligence which 
should determine whether he should give his beloved 
child into the arms of a stranger. What he learnt was 
even more favorable than he expected. He now dis- 
covered what Frau Rollmaus had long known, that he 
whom he had received into his home was, according to 
the opinion of others, no common man. 

When, on returning home the evening of the fol- 
lowing day, he reached the first houses of Rossau, he 
saw a figure hastening towards him. It was the Pro- 
fessor, who, in impatient expectation, had come, to meet 
him and now hastened up to the carriage with disturbed 
countenance. The proprietor sprang from his seat and 
said gently to the Professor: 

" Remain with us, and may Heaven give you every 

As the two men walked up the foot-path together, the 
proprietor continued, with a sudden flash of good humor: 

"You have compelled me, dear Professor, to act as 
a spy about your dwelling-place. I have learnt that 
you lead a quiet life, and that you pay your bills punct- 
ually. Your servant speaks reverentially of you, and 
you stand high in the opinion of your neighbors; in the 
city you are spoken of as a distinguished man, and what 
you have said of yourself is in all respects confirmed. 
Your lodgings are very handsome, the kitchen is too 
small, and your storeroom is smaller than one of our 
cupboards. From your windows you have at least some 
view of the country." 

Beyond this not 'a word was spoken concerning the 
object of the journey, but the Professor listened hope- 
fully to the other observations of the proprietor, how 
opulent were tne citizens, and how brilliant the shops, 
also of the height of the houses in the market-place, the 
throngs of people in the streets, and of the pigeons, 
which, according to old custom, were kept by the town 



council, and boldly hopped about like officials among 
the carriages and the human beings. 

It was early morning, and again the first rays of the 
sun warmed the earth. After a sleepless night. Use 
hastened through the garden to the little bath-house 
which her father had built among the reeds and 
bushes. There she bathed her white limbs in the water, 
dressed herself quickly and ascended the path which 
passed by the grotto to the top of the hill, seeking the 
rays of the sun. As she knew that the cool night air 
still lay in the lower ground, she climbed still higher, 
where the hill declined steeply towards the grotto down 
into the valley. There she seated herself on the decliv- 
ity amongst the copse, and far from every human eye, 
drying her hair in the sun's rays and arranging her attire. 

She gazed upon her father's house where she sup- 
posed the friend still lay slumbering, and looked down 
before her on the stone roof of the grotto, and on the large 
tuft of the willow rose, with the white wool of its seed 
bursting from the pod. She supported her head on her 
hand, and thought of last evening. How little he 
had spoken, and her father had scarcely mentioned his 
journey. But whatever anxious cares passed through 
her mind, her spirits had been refreshed by the spark- 
ling water, and now the morning cast its mild light over 
her heart. 

There sat the child of the house. She wrung the 
water out of her hair and rested her white feet on the 
moss. Near her the bees hummed over the wild thyme, 
and one little worker circled threateningly round her 
feet. Use moved, and pushed one of her shoes; the 
shoe slid down, then turned over and went bounding 
over moss and stone, till it leapt by the willow rose and 
disappeared in the depth. She put on the fellow of the 
fugitive and hastened along the path to the grotto ; turn- 
ing round the corner of the rock she stepped back 
startled, for in front of the grotto stood the Professor, 
thoughtfully contemplating the embroidered arabesques 
of the shoe. The sensitive man was scarcely less startled 
than Use at this sudden encounter. He also had been 
impelled to go out into the early morning, to the spot 
where first the heart of the maiden had revealed itself to 
him ; he had seated himself on a stone at the entrance, and 
leant his head against the rock in deep and sorrowful 
thought. Then he heard a soft rustling, and, amidst 
gravel and sand, a little masterwork of art fell close to 
his feet. He hastened forward, for he guessed at once 
to whom the bounding shoe belonged. Now he saw 
the loved one standing before him, in a light morning 
dress, enveloped in her long blond hair, resembling a 
water fairy or a mountain nymph. 

" It is my shoe," said Use, with embarrassment, 
concealing her foot. 

" I know it," said the man of learning, equally 
embarrassed, pushing the shoe respectfully to the border 

of her dress. The shoe was quickly slipped on, but the 
short glimpse of the white foot suddenly gave the Pro- 
fessor heroic courage, such as he had not had for the 
last few days. 

"I will not move from this spot, "he cried, resolutely. 

Use drew back into the grotto and gathered her hair 
into the net she held in her hand. The Professor 
stood at the entrance of the holy place; near him hung 
the long shoots of the blackberry, the bees hummed 
over the wild thyme, and his heart beat. When Use, 
with blushing cheeks, stepped out of the grotto into the 
light of day, she heard her name uttered by a voice in 
deep emotion, she felt her hand pressed, an ardent look 
shot from those true eyes, sweet words fell from his lips, 
his arm clasped her, and she sank silently on his heart. 

As the Professor himself had on another occasion ex- 
plained, man sometimes forgets that his life rests on a 
compact with the overwhelming powers of nature, which, 
unawares, counteract the little lords of the earth; thus the 
like unexpected powers now controlled the Professor 
and Use. I know not what powers of nature sent the 
bees, or threw the shoe; was it the elves in whom Use 
did not believe ; or was it one of the antique acquaint- 
ances of the Professor, the goat-footed Pan, who blew 
his reed pipes in the grotto? 

The wooing had begun in a learned manner, but it 
had been brought to a conclusion without any wisdom. 
There were two large and pure hearts which now beat 
against each other, but to say all in one word, the fas- 
tidious Professor had at last wooed his bride when she 
had no stockings on. 



Raven-black night brooded over the hostile houses; 
the world looked like^ great coal-pit in which the lights 
had been extinguished. The wind howled through the 
trees of the park; a rustling of leaves and crackling of 
branches was heard. Nothing was to be seen but a 
monstrous black curtain that concealed the neighboring 
wood and a black tented roof which was spread over 
the houses. The streets of the city were empty: all 
who liked their beds had been long lying therein, and 
whoever possessed a nightcap had now pulled it over 
his ears. Every human sound was silenced, and the 
striking of the tower-clock was intercepted by the 
stormy winds, and each tone was driven hither and 
thither, so that no one could count the midnight hour; 
only round the house of Herr Hummel the yelping 
dogs pursued their wild career in the courtyard, un- 
daunted by storm or darkness; and when the wind blew 
like a buglehorn between the houses, the pack barked 
sleep away from men by their horrible hue and cry. 

" This night suits them well," thought Gabriel, in 
his room. " This is just the weather for them." At 


last he slept, and dreamt that the two dogs opened the 
door of his room, placed themselves on two chairs be- 
fore his bed and alternately snapped their pocket pistols 
at him. 

As he was lying in this unquiet sleep, there was a 
knock at his door. 

" Get up, Gabriel," called out the old porter from 
the factory; "a misfortune has happened." 

" Through the dogs," exclaimed Gabriel, springing 
out of bed. 

" Some one must have broken in," cried the man 
again, through the door; "the dogs are lying on the 

Gabriel, alarmed, put on his boots and hastened into 
the yard, which was dimly lighted by the dawn. There 
lay the two poor watch-dogs on the ground, with no 
other sign of life but helpless- writhing. Gabriel ran 
to the warehouse, examined the door and windows, 
and then the house; every shutter was closed, and 
no sign of disturbance could be discovered. When he 
returned, Herr Hummel was standing before the pros- 
trate dogs. 

" Gabriel, a dastardly deed has been committed here. 
Something has been done to the dogs; let them both 
lie there; an investigation must take place. I will send 
for the police." 

" Indeed ? " answered Gabriel ; " compassion should 
come first,- then the police. Perhaps something may 
yet be done for the poor brutes." 

He took the two animals, carried them to the light, 
and examined their condition. 

" The black one is done for," he said, compassion- 
ately. " The red one has still some life." 

"Go to the veterinary surgeon, Klaus," exclaimed 
Herr Hummel, "and ask him to do me the favor to get 
up at once; he shall be remunerate. This case must be 
put into the daily paper. I require satisfaction before 
the magistracy and town council. — Gabriel," he con- 
tinued, in angry excitement, "they murder the dogs of 
citizens; it is a work of mean malice, but I am not the 
man to put up with such assassins. They shall be made 
an example of, Gabriel." 

Meanwhile Gabriel stroked the fur of the red dog, 
which rolled its eyes wildly under its shaggy brow and 
stretched out its paws piteously. 

At last the veterinary surgeon came. He found the 
whole family assembled in the court. Frau Hummel, still 
in her night-dress, brought him a cup of coffee, while 
drinking which he sympathized with them, and then 
began the examination. The verdict of the expert hinted 
at poisoning ; the dissection showed that a little dumpling 
with arsenic had been eaten, and, what still more vexed 
Herr Hummel, there were glass splinters besides. For 
the red one there was a doubtful prospect of recovery. 

^To be continued.) 

¥he 9pe^ deuFli 




EDWARD C. HEGELER, Phesident. 

DR. PAUL CARUS, Editor. 

The Open Court is devoted to the work of conciliating Religion with 
Science. The founder and editor have found this conciliation in Monism — ta 
present and defend which is the main object of The Open Court. 

The Open Court has for contributors the leading thinkers of Ihe old 
and new world. 

Translations from the most prominent authors of Europe have been pro- 
cured, and efforts are made to present the very best and most advanced thought 
bearing on scientific, religious, social and economic questions. 


All communications should be addressed to 


p. 0. DRAWER F. 


Contents of No. 31. 

SIS. //. Professor Calvin Thomas 847 


PHYSIOLOGY. ///. Felix L. Oswald, M.D 850 

TER. //. J. G. VoGT. Translated from the German 
by F. W. Morton " 852 


LER 854 



Victor Hugo's Creed. Translated by Rovj 854 


Goethe's View of Immanence. Dr Lindorme 855 

Liberalism and The Open Court. A Liberal 856 

" open Court" or " Monist." G. H. Scheel 856 


Idyls and Lyrics of the Ohio Valley. John James 

Piatt ' 856 

The Second Son. M. O. W. Oliphant and T. B. Al- 

drich 857 

The English in the \Vest Indies. James Anthony 

Froude 857 


The Lost Manuscript. (Continued) Gustav Freytag 857 

The Open Court, 


Devoted to the \AAork of Conciliating Religion with Science. 

No. 32. (Vol. II.— 6.) 


( Three Dollars per Year. 
I Single Copies, locts. 



Part /. 

Translated Jrom the German by F. W. Morton. 

He who wishes to investigate a natural phenomenon 
seeks first to discover all the conditions which necessar- 
ily attend it, and of which the Bon-fulfillment of a single 
one suffices to bring the observed occurrence completely 
to a standstill. 

If, after preliminary work, the physicist believes he 
has ascertained all the conditions of a motion, he adds to 
this analytic method the synthetic, in that with all the 
assistance of science and technics he artificially produces 
these conditions. If these were rightly and fully ob- 
served, the phenomenon must take place of necessity. 
If, however, the means for an artificial experiment are 
wanting, a prediction as to the event under considera- 
tion is made. The astronomer foretells with certainty 
an eclipse of the sun, and it takes place exactly, even to 
the second, at the time given — a proof that in this case 
all the conditions are known. The same is true of some 
chemical facts. The nature of water has been so accu- 
rately investigated that at any moment it can be artifi- 
cially produced from its gaseous elements, hydrogen and 

But in these two cases, as in all where the conditions 
of a phenomenon can be fully produced, something still 
remains entirely unknown. Gravitation, which holds 
together the world's structure, is for the astronomer in 
its inmost essence a problem not yet solved. He deals 
with it only as with something definitely given when he 
predicts centuries ahead. The chemist, who artificially 
produces a well known chemical union by the conjunc- 
tion of its constituent parts, proceeds in the same way. 
He operates with chemical affinity without having the 
least conception of its real nature. Attraction and affinity 
are only words to mask the ignorance of the investigator. 
Still these indistinct conceptions cannot be dispensed with; 
they are of the greatest service for an understanding of 
the world. They must remain until in the future, if ever, 
they are supplaced by clear perceptions. 

The mystery which always attaches even to the best 
known natural phenomena and to the explanation of 
them, is nowhere felt in so striking a way as in the in- 
vestigfation of life. 


In whatever way the physical principles are applied 
to the living, they are all too often of no service what- 
ever. The manifestations of life, in spite of all attempts 
to understand them, offer more of the wonderful than ot 
the comprehensible. 

Even when we begin with the lowest living beings, 
we cannot succeed in ascertaining all the conditions of 
their existence. Take, for instance, those forms of life 
which consist merely of a tiny lump of tough slimy ma- 
terial. They breathe, nourish themselves, change their 
form, move from one place to another and multiply by 
division. They are without organs; on all sides of their 
body they are apparently the same ; they are not animal, 
not plant, but merely living forms. To science they are 
a mystery. Their chemical composition is unknown; 
the cause of their motion not less. To this we must add 
that these beings know not a natural death. As soon 
as a certain age is reached they divide into two parts 
and continue to live double, then four-fold, then eight- 
fold, and so on till by lack of space and nourishment 
further division is prevented. Then the youngest gen- 
eration is consumed by the animals of the sea. Death 
by reason of old age is therefore not possible for these 
beings, for in the bloom of life they divide themselves 
into twos and succumb only to violence. 

Higher organisms, on the other hand, like man, 
finally reach a point of time when life becomes extinct. 
And this takes place even in the best of health, when 
they are careful in action and hardened in person, 
whether they live in the feasts of abundance or in ca- 
tonic abstinence; and that, too, without our being able 
to assign for it a sufficient cause. The wearing out of 
the organs is just as incomprehensible in old age as in 
youth, in so far as they receive the same good nourish- 
ment for their support. As a matter of fact they no longer 
utilize this nourishment so completely, and that in all prob- 
ability from a good reason, viz. : because in the course 
of a long life a great number of imperceptible losses have 
wrought their effects upon the organism. These, each 
one taken by itself, do not in a perceptible way work dis- 
advantageously on the processes of restoring the worn- 
out tissue, but when taken together, they break the oppos- 
ing strength of the body so that at last it succumbs on the 
slightest occasion. 

Fundamentally, however, this is to be taken only as 
a supposition. The real cause of natural death is un- 



known, and the certainty which stamps mortality upon 
every living thing is purely inductive. Because it has 
never been observed that a living body has passed a 
certain age, the conclusion is rightly drawn that it can 
never happen that a living being will not die or its indi- 
vidual existence find no end. 

Thus, even in its first steps, the investigation of life 
meets an enigma. It cannot discover why, in the nat- 
ural course of events, death necessarily inheres in every 
organism after a certain time. 

If we start, therefore, simply from the standpoint of 
the experimental physicist and regard life like any 
other natural process, the question as to the conditions 
which must necessarily be fulfilled, that this process 
may take place, cannot fully be answered. For if all 
the conditions of life, with exception, were known, the 
nature of death would also be known, so far, at least, as 
it takes place through the failure of any one of the con- 
ditions demanded. 

Nevertheless, a complete answer to this question is 
of great interest, because it would ajffbrd a glimpse into 
the dependence of all life upon its environment. Those 
circumstances which have heretofore been known as the 
general conditions of life, bear essentially, therefore, on 
an explanation of the conception of life. A compre- 
hensive treatment of them, moreover, is afforded by 
their purely real contents. 

By general conditions of life are to be understood 
only such as apply without exception to all living 
beings. We have to do, therefore, with discovering the 
circumstances which ai'e not less indispensable to life for 
the tiny rotifer in the depths of the sea than for the 
condor which soars with strong wing over the highest 
peaks of the Cordilleras. We have to find what is in- 
dispensable to life alike for the wretched lichens grow- 
ing on weathered rocks and for the palm unfolding 
itself in full beauty, for the microscopical yeast cell and 
for the scientist who observes it. All plants, all animals 
and men must have certain necessities of life in common, 
since they all live. Thus generally considered on ac- 
count of great manifoldness of organized bodies, the 
number of conditions of life can only be small. Experi- 
ment alone teaches us to know them. Only by observa- 
tion and experiment can they be acquired. 

First, as many uninjured living beings as possible 
must be sought in their natural environment. We 
find even on a superficial observation that at a certain 
depth in the earth and at a certain height above the level 
of the sea no life can exist, that life is also diminished 
amid the ice at the poles and in the dry sands of the 

Then artificially changed organisms must be con- 
sidered in their natural environment. When, for 
example, some of the parts of an animal are skillfully 
removed life can often continue without change of en- 

vironment. We ascertain in this way which organs are 
indispensable for the preservation of life and which are 

Incomparably richer in results than this sort of in- 
vestigation is the artijicial changing of living beings in 
connection with a simultaneous change of environment. 
If a plant grows up from the seed in cold and darkness 
so that it is not green, and is then exposed to light of a 
single color, we have an anomalous organism in an 
anomalous environment, and can determine what sorts 
of light permit and necessitate the supplementary forma- 
tion of green on the leaf. 

Not less important for the question under consider- 
ation are, finally, those experiments by which uninjured 
organisms become displaced in a changed enw'vcovvca.e.n'i. 
If a green plant be brought into a space filled with pure 
blue light it dies. For the maintenance of its health, 
therefore, other constituents of the daylight than blue 
are demanded. To determine the conditions of life we 
must regard as of especial importance such changes of 
natural surrounding as produce a withdrawal of some 
one material which stands in intimate relation with the 
living organism. If, still to cling to our example, all 
iron be withdrawn from the nourishment of green 
plants — and that, too, if possible, without other change 
of environment — a green-sickness takes place; and if 
care be not soon taken for a renewal of the supply life 
becomes extinct. Iron, therefore, must be regarded as 
a necessity of life so long as no other element closely 
related to iron can be proven to take its place without 
fatal results. For manganese and nickel this proof is 
furnished. Therefore, with a high degree of probabil- 
ity we may assert that the presence of iron in the food 
is a life- necessity for green plants. 

The general conditions of life, which have been ac- 
quired by this four-fold method of investigation, naturally 
fall into two great groups — the outer and the inner. ' 
The one has reference to the surroundings of the living 
object; the other has to do with the formation of thai 
organism which is necessary for its conservation — its | 
chemical composition and its anatomical structure. 

Further, both the outer and the inner conditions of j 
life are in part mediate or indirect and in part immedi- 
ate or direct. We have to determine what suffices to 
prolong mere life for a period, i. e. what is directly de- 
manded by it, and what is necessary to maintain full 
health or normal life, which is characterized thereby, so 
that all functions reach their complete unfolding. 

Now, the indirect external conditions necessary for 
this are so complicated that even now they can neither 
be reviewed nor investigated so as to determine wherein j 
their significance really lies. One such condition, how- 
ever, is the association of several, viz.: society. 

Experience teaches us that a living thing will thrive 1 
only where other living things exist. Solitude is en- 



tirely foreign to the realm of animated nature. All ani- 
mated existence is mutually dependent; and if the tem- 
porary repose of an individual from the struggle for ex- 
istence makes a passing isolation acceptable to him, still 
there is no living body that can permanently endure ab- 
solute solitude. But few know the indescribably deso- 
late feeling of abandonment which overpowers the 
stranger, thirsting for knowledge, in an island, or amid 
great lava fields stretching over hundreds of square 
miles; with not so much as a voice in which he may 
forget himself such as even the glacial districts of the 
Alps pour down upon the unterrified hunter. No one 
for any length of time loves this gloomy silence, this 
death-like stillness of nature. 

Although social life occasions great injuries to per- 
sonal welfare, since each man in order to further his 
own interests comes into collision with others, still a so- 
ciety of many people, and above all the family, produces 
the greatest advantages for personal prosperity. For 
-when many live together not only will the existing 
needs of life be more easily satisfied, and that, too, fully 
and regularly, but there arise through society new sug- 
gestions or desires which impart a new charm to life. 
Generally, so important are these advantages, made pos- 
sible by society, for the furtherance of life in any of its 
phases, that society — and this holds good for all 
animated nature — becomes the most important of the in- 
direct external conditions of life. And it becomes this 
largely because it alone permits the development of all 
talents, and thus preserves spiritual and physical health, 
that is, normal life. Not only must the necessary de- 
mands, as for example, that for food, be satisfied ; but 
for full perfection those numerous needs are required 
which are newly created by society for its gratification. 
And these are without limitation from without and yet 
are not immeasurable. 

This abundant supply of all the necessities of life is 
called luxury. It is found in all nature and at all stages 
of development of living beings, but never abundantly. 
That it should be desired is natural. Many condemn it, 
however, but chiefly for this reason: That the right 
measure of enjoyment is hard to find. Only so far as it 
takes into consideration the well-being of one man and 
that of his equally deserving fellow-beings is luxury 
harmless, permissible, right, advantageous, wholesome 
and necessary for normal life. So often as it degene- 
rates it not only loses its advantages, but it becomes 
harmful. It then no longer enhances the capacity for 
the highest effort. _In order to avoid this harmful de- 
generation moderation is necessary, for without this 
mankind cannot be kept from want or sickness. In 
itself undue self-denial, avarice — that which is. called 
the non-fulfillment of the indirect conditions of life — is 
still more contrary to nature than the greatest luxury. 
"The satisfaction arising from undue self-denial or forced 

overstrained self-conquest is exceedingly slight. Be- 
sides, luxury, which as a rule could not exist but for 
society, is of the greatest advantage to the individual 
who rejoices in it without being degenerated by it; it 
is even more advantageous to society in general. 

In the circles of the British nobility, where the great- 
est luxury prevails, longevity, good health and intelli- 
gence have almost become hereditary. Moreover, we 
speak here of luxury in its widest sense. There is 
physical luxury, human, animal, and plant luxury. 
Many animals kill more than they can consume, many 
collect so great a store that they are not able to use it. 
The most striking example of luxury in the animal 
world is afforded by the house-building birds of Aus- 
tralia, which, in addition to their nests, build shapely 
social houses and there give themselves up to all sorts of 
amusements. They build their nests on trees and their 
social houses on the level ground The latter are 
adorned with all sorts of bright objects and flowers. 
These remarkable birds play with various colored 
stones and shells, while they frequently change the 
decorations of their houses. They caress and tease one 
another and entertain themselves actively in their exclu- 
sive clubs. Even in the vegetable kingdom such a lux- 
urious life may easily be distinguished from those con- 
ditions of life in which everything needed, but nothing 
more than this, is at hand. Not merely by means of 
better soil and more copious light, nor by means of 
good oourishment and care, do many plants grow more 
luxuriantly. On the contrary, their thrift depends, in a 
large measure, upon the society in which they grow. 
The leaves in the primeval tropical forests never attain 
their strongest development unless the most powerful 
trees serve them. Such vine-growths really lead a luxu- 
rious life. They have in every respect more than they 
need, just like many a parasite of the animal kingdom. 

{To b^ coniijitied.) 


Part II. 

We have seen that BayrhofFer, like Feuerbach and 
Strauss, turned away from the sterile and shadowy 
haunts of the purely conceptual world, and like these, 
his illustrious fellow dissenters of the left wing, he de- 
voted himself all the more intently to the contemplation 
of the luxuriantly vivid and replete presence of the per- 
ceptible universe. 

This richly saturated world of perception is, how- 
ever, by no means so immediately within palpable 
reach of philosophical thought, as it is of sensible 
experience. To our direct perception the universe 
seems indeed composed of a multitude of diversely con- 
stituted bodies, extended in space and changing in time. 
And this material universe it is which, in the unsophisti- 



cated estimate of us all, is carrying with it the entire 
wealth of Being. For Mind, — the only other mode of 
existence, of which we are cognizant, besides Matter, is 
evidently only an inner affection of some peculiarly or- 
ganized bodies, forming part of this same all-comprising 
material universe. To plain common-sense it is the 
clearest possible fact, that the world of real Being is the 
same world we are from day to day actually perceiving. 

Yet as soon as we set about scrutinizing somewhat 
more closely the relation of this perceptible world to 
our individual perception of it, perplexities arise that are 
strong enough essentially to disturb the intuitive assur- 
ance of the common-sense view. It requires, indeed, but 
little reflection to become positively aware that the ma- 
terial universe is in verity realized by us solely in the 
medium of our own consciousness; which consciousness 
is undeniably of mental and not of material consistency. 
■ Wherefrom irrefragably follows, that we know the 
material universe only mediately through mental repre- 

Here, then, at once, inevitably, the central problem 
of philosophy offers itself for solution. It can nowise 
be ignored or eluded by whoever desires to recognize 
the true nature of Reality. And what thoughtful hu- 
man creature does not crave to learn the secret of his 
own inmost nature, and how such nature is in truth con- 
nected with that abiding universal essence of Being, 
which underlies the ever-shifting phantasmagoria of 
sense-apparent manifestations? 

Can anyone wonder that, struck with indefeasible 
longing for insight beyond the phenomenal play of in- 
dividual perception, so many eager lives have spent the 
ardor of their vital spark in the endeavor to lay bare the 
solemn enigma of real Being.' In what conceivable re- 
lation do those individual perceptions of ours stand to the 
actual world represented by them ? How far do these 
mere mental figurations justify the framing of concep- 
tions concerning the absolute nature of that, which from 
time to time is thus perceptively figured, but which 
must surely be itself steadfastly abiding in permanent 
existence, whether perceived by us or not? And in this 
soul-stirring solemnity of externally revealed and inter- 
rally concealed existence, of what import is the little 
role we ourselves are playing? What is the true mean- 
ing of the open secret of Thought, Life and Being? 

Undaunted by any failure of predecessors, they, 
whose gaze has penetrated beyond the " illusive veil of 
Maja," continue from century to century of human 
doom their eager questionings in search of veritable 
Reality. And to this exotic sect of philosophical pon- 
derers, wrapped in wondering awe and super-individual 
hope, Bayrhoffer belonged with soul and body. Touched 
from early youth with the frenzy that begets the trans- 
cendental mood to think and live as faithful exponent 
of the ever-valid world of reason, and not as one of the 

common herd of self-seeking time-servers, he undevia- 
tingly steered his course to the end. 

No mere dreamer he! When, after a brilliant 
career as philosophical teacher and political leader, he 
found himself ousted of the academic chair and the par- 
liamentary rostrum, he abundantly proved the practical 
strength and value of his reason-bred convictions. His 
humanitarian creed then flowed out, not in sentimental 
lamentations, but in courage and force to do battle 
against all manner of adversity. For the sake of his 
own manhood, and the welfare of his young brood of 
aspirants to human worth, he cheerfully and energeti- 
cally adapted himself to the imposed situation. With 
rare fortitude he relinquished his habitual idealistic occu- 
pation with thoughts and words, entering resolutely with 
axe and plow upon a most realistic struggle for existence. 

Figure the man, who had been a German professor 
of philosophy, forty years old already, actually making 
a living for himself and family by manual labor on a 
Wisconsin farm, thirty-six years ago. Surely a memor- 
able event this for whoever happens to know of what 
strangely awkward stuflF German professors were made 
in those days, and not again did our professorial far- 
mer lay down his agricultural implements to return to 
his beloved realm of philosophical thought, until his 
children had grown up to be worthy citizens of the 
ideal humanitarian commonwealth, foreshadowed in the 
fundamental principles that had given republican inde- 
pendence and democratic stability to this his adopted 

The first philosophical paper he allowed himself to 
write appeared in the third and fourth volumes of Berg- 
mann's Philosophische Monatshefte seventeen years 
after he had settled on his farm. It contains a criticism 
of Herbart's, Hegel's and Spencer's systems, but fully 
adopting the naturalistic evolution-hypothesis. A year 
later, 1S71, he published, also in German, a concise expo- 
sition of his views in a pamphlet bearing the title: Das 
Wesen des Universums unci die Gesetze des Humanis- 
mus, dargestellt aiis dem Standputtkte der Vernunft. 
Then in The yonrnal of Speculative Philosophy, ^axM- 
ary and October, 1S76, "The Idea of Matter" and "The 
Idea of Mind." 

These are the essential writings pointed out by him- 
self to the present writer as conveying his matured 
thought. They were written after his health had been 
much impaired by the many years of unaccustomed hard 
labor. It is no easy task clearly to realize his views 
from his brief and abstruse exposition of them. But we 
will try to give a correct idea of his monistic foundation 
of the universe; for there can be no doubt that the 
monistic world-conception will have to be based on a 
groundwork similarly constituted. 

Bayrhoffer, as stated before, was a firm believer in 
the fundamental unity and essential identity of the ma- 



terial and the mental worlds. But he did not believe 
that thought or intelligence is itself veritable Being. 
On the contrary, he looked upon that entity, vs^hich is 
consciously revealed to us in material appearances, as 
the true essence of Reality. With Kant, and in oppo- 
sition to Hegel, he most positively maintained that that 
which is causing our individual space-perception to be 
filled with the specific content we call matter, is itself 
real, sense-stimulating Being, subsisting outside and in- 
dependently of this perception of ours; wiiich percep- 
tion is therefore not merely an ideal product of our own 
obscure and inadequate introspective conception of an 
absolute reality which is itself Thought. 

But, imlike Kant, he further asserts that there exists 
an essential identity of nature between the phenomenal 
or ideal appearances within our perception and the non- 
phenomenal or real efficiencies that arouse them from 
outside. This assertion goes right to the heart of the 
philosophical problem. If he can prove its validity, he 
has indeed discovered the long-sought-for monistic solu- 
tion for the apparent duality of mind and matter in the 
domain of all-comprising Being. 

It is, of course, easy enough to establish identity be- 
tween Thought and Being, when with our thorough- 
going Idealists w& simply maintain that Thought is 
itself Being, and that the belief in the existence of 
something stimulating our sensibility from outside is a 
mere illusion. Easy also to establish a pseudo-monism, 
in which mind and matter are seemingly one, when with 
many of our scientific philosophers we quietly lodge the 
requisite modicum of mental capacities in the primordial 
material elements with which the monistic universe is 
then built up. 

But it should be clear by this time: — on the idealistic 
side, that our compulsory percepts are indeed aroused 
by external powers, whose distinguishing characteristics 
they faithfully represent; — on the materialistic side, that 
what we perceive as the material universe is merely a 
sense-stimulated phenomenon within our own percep- 
tion, whose component parts — howevermuch subdivided 
and finally atomized in conception — cannot, themselves, 
be placed in objective existence as the true elements of 
real Being. 

BayrhofFer is lucidly aware that it can be only by 
means of a reasoned analysis and explanation of the 
sense-revealed universe that we can ever hope of gain- 
ing insight into the veritable nature of Being. He tells 
us plainly that 'speculative thinking is alone capable 
of understanding and interpreting the ultimate nature of 

It will be instructive to find out why this must be so. 
For it is one thing to profess, in a general way, belief 
in Monism, and quite another thing positively to demon- 
strate how mind and matter have in truth a common 
origin in universal Being. A creed, which desires to be 

scientific, ought to give strict account of the reasons 
which determine it to adopt its fundamental tenets. 
Naturalistic Monists who fancy that their assumption of 
the unity and identity of mind and matter in nature is 
a self-evident truth or a readily demonstrable fact, are 
strangely mistaken. Even if — with all too bold a sweep 
— mind be hypothetically identified with force, and 
force with matter, it will be found a rather puzzling 
task to explain, or only to conceive, the interaction and 
transition into one another of these various modes of 
Being. Idealistic Monists have here an immense ad- 
vantage, so far as facility of conception is concerned. 
They can positively prove that we are immediately 
aware only of mental existence; that all we know of 
nature Tippears within our own mental medium and is 
there mentally conceived by us. From this undeniable 
state of things they draw the easv conclusion that Mind 
is the sole mode of Being. 

But believing — as we naturalistic thinkers most pos- 
itively do — in sense-stimulating powers, we have inevi- 
tably to use our speculative reason in order to attain 
knowledge regarding these extra-conscious powers ; for 
how otherwise could we penetrate beyond the immedi- 
ate evidence of our senses. If the perceptive represen- 
tation within our individual consciousness is indeed our 
sole revelation of the great outside universe of Being, 
then, obviously, there can be framed a consistent hy- 
pothesis concerning the veritable nature of that, which 
thus vicariously appears within our consciousness, only 
by means of a rational interpretation of the mental effects 
it arouses in us. No mere unreasoned observation of 
these mental effects, with ever so correct a description 
of their perceptual content and behavior according to the 
natural-science method, can possibly yield informa- 
tion regarding the permanent and efficient powers, of 
whose transient modes of interaction the representative 
percepts are just as transient a set of outcomes. 

It is significant, in this connection, that mathematical 
Pliysicists, following consistently their method of accurate 
measurement and comparison of space and time-phenom- 
ena, are more and more completely abandoning all 
attempts to postulate or imagine any kind of absolute 
reality underlying or causing these perceptual appear- 
ances. They assume in their calculations no atoms or 
forces to account for so-called material phenomena; but 
work merely with definitely ascertained velocities of 
definite parts of space-occupation, as interlinked with one 
another, in so far only as changes in their motion, and 
therewith position are concerned. These Physicists are, 
in fact, if they only knew it, out and out Psychologists, 
having for their object of investigation nothing but 
changes of specific percepts within individual space and 
iixne- percept ion. But as these percepts happen to be 
faithful representations of the distinguishing character- 
istics of the sense- affecting influences, the peculiarities of 



their perceptual motions turn out to be significant signs 
of peculiarities appertaining to the efficiencies of the 
interacting powers outside consciousness. 

But can we ever gain any valid knowledge respect- 
ing the ultimate nature of that which stimulates our 
sensibility and arouses our percepts? Philosophers, who 
have realized the phenomenality of all perceptible occur- 
rences within sense-revealed nature, have very gener- 
ally denied the possibility of forming any conception 
whatever concerning the absolute nature of that which 
underlies the perceptual phenomena, and which conse- 
quently constitutes the veritable essence of Being. 
Whether with Kant this seemingly unrecognizable 
something be called the realm of Things-in-themselves, 
or with Spencer the Unknowable, the profession of 
nescience regarding its true nature is the characteristic 
mark of the philosophical Agnostic. 

BayrhofTer's chief effort is to overcome such Agnos- 
ticism. He seriously attempts to recognize the veritable 
nature of absolute Being, and gives good reasons why 
such nature should be cognizable. He argues that a 
separation and opposition of Being and Thought, Sub- 
ject and Object, Percept and Thing, is merely an ab- 
straction of consciousness, having no real validity. For 
all thinking occurs within Being; is indeed Being itself, 
exerting its own power of internal reflection or self- 
appearance. And such reflection is found to mirror not 
the subjective side only, but the entirety of Being, in 
which the objective side is always included. This argu- 
ment is the argument of " Real-Idealism," and is 
in the strain of Schelling's thought. BayrhofFer, 
from the standpoint of the Kantian relativity of 
knowledge adds, that a realizing subject, whose mental 
nature w^ere so constituted as to be incommensurable 
with Reality, and not indeed wholly impregnated with 
it, would be simply an anti-natural monstrosity. Our 
perception and conception of Reality figures within a 
subjective focus nothing but Being itself in its various 
and variable forms; consequently a rational interpretation 
of such mental figuration must lead to a more and more 
complete recognition of absolute Being. Knowledge is, 
in fact, the self-revelation of such Being. And though 
progress toward complete truth is through one-sided- 
ness, illusion and error, yet by dint of gradual rectifica- 
tion and amplification, we come to grasp more and more 
adequately that absolute truth, which fully reflects the 
veritable nature of All-Being. From the persistent 
matrix of perceptible phenomena has emanated our 
entire consciousness, and therewith our conception 
of the universe with all its present inconsistencies of 
mental apprehension. Surely, then, the same all-evolv- 
ing matrix will have also power to evolve a solution of 
these inconsistencies. 

Meanwhile Bayrhoffer thinks it incumbent on us to 
try to frame as consistent an hypothesis of the veritable 

nature of Being as lies in our present power. This is 
what he attempts. And this is what has likewise been 
attempted, on similar lines of tradition and thought, by 
a far more renowned contemporaneous philosopher, who 
was fortunate enough to be allowed peacefully to pur- 
sue his thinking and teaching throughout a long and 
most successful career. 

But how different the final conclusions arrived at by 
the conservative Lotze from those attained by our in- 
trepid revolutionist. Lotze, building likewise on Kant's 
and Herbart's fundamental ideas, manages plausibly to 
deduce from his naturalistic Monadology the existence 
of a personal Deity and the confident belief in personal 
immortality. BayrhofFer, following boldly the lead of a 
rationalistic interpretation of sense-revealed nature, is, on 
the contrary, unhesitatingly certain of the non-existence 
of a personal Deity, and the impossibility of personal 
immortality. Both thinkers believe the world and 
ourselves to be composed of monads, but Lotze's 
Monadology is imbued with a monarchical spirit; Bayr- 
hofTer's is uncompromisingly democratic. 

It would be well worth while carefully to compare 
the two'systems, but this interesting task lies beyond 
our present purpose, which is to give an idea of Bayr- 
hofTer's Naturalistic Monism, in ^Vhlch the interaction of 
equal and elementary Monads is made to give rise alike 
to material and to mental phenomena. We will now 
see how this is brought about. 



If we disregard, as we must, the opinions of that 
great body of single-thoughted practical men whose 
education belongs to a day that the world cannot repeat, 
we do not underestimate the difficulties that their firmly 
held dogmas place in the path of reform. The problem 
before those who hope for better things is to change a 
society in which the refined vices of industrial self-interest 
are considered virtues, and which the best brains of the 
trading sphere are enlisted to amplify. It is not merely 
a dead weight of stolid conservatism that is to be lifted, 
although this is there; it is the vigorously working 
forces of triumphant selfishness and injustice that are tO' 
be met and dissipated before a better time can come. 
On the side of obstruction and retardation, in heavy 
force, are the conventionally moral men w^ho extol the 
present working principles of society at the expense of 
those reforms that would bring the conception of human 
development into industrial relations. What forces 
then are available for reform ? 

It is certain that the high results of the moral revolu- 
tion that we desire are not to be accomplished by men 
who have not themselves abandoned the lower ground 
occupied by prosperous humanity. Those who would 
help most in this supreme work must have severed 


themselves from merely personal ends and inferior hopes. 
They must have gone down into the depths of life and 
of being, and gathered thence infinite inspiration and 
faith in the possibilities of man. The demand of the 
moment is in its fullest import for characters of this 
kind. They must care for no human opinion ; they 
must be simple lovers of truth, ready to part with every- 
thing besides. 

There are two classes that approach this type. Of 
one of these, the "masses," we shall speak hereafter. 
By the other we mean the educated men of the country. 

The broad scholar of to-day must have imbibed 
something of the historic spirit. It is impossible for him 
to believe in the permanence of institutions in the sense 
that practical, unread men suppose them to be perma- 
nent. He sees that they have become what they are to" 
fit human needs, and that as these needs change and 
enlarge the institutions must likewise be modified. He 
perceives, moreover, that this alteration has always been, 
and must ever be, along the line of the moral and ideal. 
For the moral and ideal are the same. The ideal is the 
material out of which the future real is to be elaborated. 
This passage from the momentarily real to the more 
moral or ideal is the essence of the life of individual and 
of humanity. One who does not recognize this and 
regard himself as a part of the race-process has not yet 
learned to live and does not know the depth of the 
meaning of duty. As man only lives successfully when 
he observes all the conditions that past development has 
imposed upon him, so he only lives fully when his life 
is ordered by the largest conception of the future that 
he can form. This, without postponement, is future 
life. And it is nothing more than the unchaining of 
the now. It is the crow^ding of the future, extended, 
temporal reality into the present; the refusal to sacrifice 
this future to a limited and false conception of the nature 
of the present and of life itself. For it is not the trans- 
portation of man out of himself into a nebulous and 
dreamed of unreality, the abandonment of his natural and 
sustaining environment, it is the enlarging of man to his 
own proper stature. Life is seldom conceived in its real 
breadth, and for this reason few gather to themselves its 
full richness. It will not be so conceived until the indi- 
vidual comprehends himself as the bearer of the race 
essence and as containing, in no merely figurative way, 
the temporal hereafter. This is man in his reality. 
Whoever lives for the mere present lives not for the 
real present, nor for more than a fragment of himself. 
It is the mission of the scholar to reveal this larger and 
encompassing world of his saner being, which is there 
to fructify and complete the lesser world to which he 
has arbitrarily confined himself. 

But we trust the scholar for other reasons. The 
magic of rising above the hopes and fears of a world 
that is the product of a transcended past, is his birth- 

right. If the prizes of human society are in the hands 
of practical, unhistoric men, they count for little with 
him; for they are prizes only in a world that denies life. 
It is base to live for these prizes as men commonly do, 
but it would be infinitely baser for one who has dis- 
cerned the higher significance of living to lend himself 
to their pursuit. The vocation of the scholar is absolute 
and unswerving independence, and independence su- 
premely of whatever survives from the past that is det- 
rimental to human progress. And if he considers his 
momentary comfort in comparison with this stellar lib- 
erty, he, too, belongs to the past and is not worthy of his 
calling. We do not say that there are not such men, and 
perhaps many of them. But we say that such men are 
not worthy of their calling if they do not revolt against 
their own untrueness to truth. We do not doubt there 
are many scholars whose sole purpose in the pursuit of 
learning is a livelihood, or social position, or reputation, 
just as there are now many ministers with no higher ob- 
ject than these. But we expect nothing from such men. 
They are powerless to help in times like these. 

Society has been wont to class certain well-defined 
and limited duties under the stereotyped idea of each 
profession. It has then said, " Let the shoemaker stick 
to his last," and frowned at innovation. Each brother- 
hood has its written or unwritten code, and the penalty 
of deviating is ostracism and sequestration. The physi- 
cian may heal the poor without fees, but where is the 
medical man who is renovating the ideas of his commu- 
nity so as to avert sickness? The lawyer makes and 
nurses cases for his own profit, instead of preventing 
and adjusting them and thereby saving the client from 
sure depletion. The clergymen " sticks to the Bible" 
and " preaches Christ and Him Crucified," while the 
vast complex of information and instruction that should 
come through the modern pulpit is left untouched by 
him. The pulpit is sacred to antiquated doctrinism. 
The professional scholar, likewise, has an idea of his 
function conceived in medieval days and ossified in their 
inspiring atmosphere, and idolized by medievalists ever 
since. The professional scholar is bookish far excellence. 
He has the aroma of a seat of learning and thinks that 
the ways in which an intellectual man should walk 
have been discovered. The sunlight and opposing 
opinions dismay him. The pale cheek of a student is 
his highest consolation. " I do not want a student to 
injure his health," said one of these sages, " but I want 
him to come as near to it as he can." In his surrender 
to the cult of sanctioned learning he is as livid and ortho- 
dox as the highly-bred Calvinist is stark and stead- 
fast to his fancies. This type has by natural evolution 
produced what, for distinction from the specific worker, 
who remains a congruous and approvable man, may be 
termed the unhumanized specialist. He must be in 
earnest only about the infinitesimal particular globule 



in which his mind is accustomed to spin. He shall sedu- 
lously guard himself from any other interest, lest his 
mental top lose a revolution on the axis of its specialty. 
Woe, then, to him, for all that he esteems considerable 
has suffered a calamity. An irrevocable opportunity is 

Against these doctrinaires of preaching, and medi- 
cine, and learning or research, who rule in modern 
councils by the divine right of the insensate apathy of 
their companions in self-prolonged minority, the true 
scholar stands out. He is conscious that his class is not 
doing its. legitimate work in the world because of its 
creed. As in religion, formalism has expelled sub- 
stance. And this drags the scholar down to the com- 
mon level. Individualism infects him with the rest. He 
acquiesces. Persevering adherence to the exceptional 
insights granted him, and duty to know and practise the 
laws of conduct declared in these clearer visions, he 

Hence scholars have not yet arrived at their true 
functions except in daring and unusual instances. They 
have not sought a profound comprehension of the 
meaning of life in its complexity and breadth, as every 
man and, most of all, every educator should. The con- 
ception of the education of humanity, of race-building, 
they have not cared to grasp. But these ideas are at 
length here, and it is required of each worker to relate 
himself anew and more vitally than before to the larger 
social unity. The movement of the world now forces 
the scholar to accept these issues. To him first the 
breath of a higher life should come. Those who are 
permeated by this new spirit are weary of the moral 
pause that has fallen upon the world. It rests with high- 
minded and independent characters, those of historic in- 
sight and original strength, to lift this blight and to 
bring to sensible existence a practical morality that cor- 
responds to the highest conception of virtue that we 
have yet developed. It is for such men to guide the 
inasses and to unfold instead of repressing them. This 
is the unrivaled opportunity of the present time. The 
problem is the application of all modern knowledge and 
energy to race expansion. The claim rests upon this 
generation to renounce its hoary contentment .with con- 
ventional methods of doing and being good and to forge 
measures that are adequate to modern needs and shall 
supply a foundation for future human construction. 

In fine, the scholar and such as feel with him the 
premonition of a new life are called upon to set them- 
selves in complete and determined opposition to the 
abuses that prevail universally, to put the seal of con- 
demnation upon ideas that even good men affectionately 
tolerate, to clear away the mystifying creeds and dog- 
mas that hinder men of the highest purposes and lives 
from harmony with the organized good, to establish 
once and forever the truth that all men are born to live 

moral and beautiful and expanding lives in whatever 
sphere they may labor, and that the paramount duty of the 
enlightened is to forswear class preference and privilege 
and enter the internecine struggle to lift up the whole 
human race. 

These are large objects, but the time has arrived 
when they can no longer be postponed, and the scholar 
must accept them as the companion duty of his excep- 
tional opportunities. 


Mr. L. T. Ives, in his letter on page 872 of The 
Open Court, refers to my essay of January 5th, enti- 
tled " The Unknowable." He sees no objection to con- 
sidering abstracts or generalizations as chiffres for econ- 
omizing thought; but he asks: "Does this class of 
thinking serve our purpose also with the word infinite?" 

Yes, it does. But infinity does not mean, as Mr. 
Ives suggests, "the abstract of all finities;" it is the 
abstract of all infinities, i. e., it is a chiffre for anything 
which we think of without limits. An infinite decimal 
(say a recurring decimal) is a decimal fraction which we 
think of without a limit, for instance 1/3 == 0.333 .... 
ad infinitum. Infinity is never a real thing. In order to 
use an infinite magnitude of any kind w^e must stop 
short when the error becomes indifferent. The decimal 
0.333 .... is only equal to i/^ when w^e continue with 
the threes after the decimal point ad infinitum, which is 
practically impossible as well as unnecessary. The in- 
finite is therefore a name for a process without a definite 
limit which can be continued as long as one pleases and 
is only approximately finished if cut short ; and infinitude 
is a generalization and a chiffre for all the infinities. 

So far Mr. Ives agrees with me, I believe, and he 
states correctly that it is one and the same thing whether 
we measure with inches or sidereal distances (as are, e. g., 
the " light years," i. e., the distance which a ray of light 
travels in one year). Mr. Ives' issue is the infinitude of 
space, and it is this which he proposes as the problem, 
" about which it cannot truly be said ' there is no 
mysterj'.' " 

And yet the infinitude of space is the same infinitude 
as any other mathematical infinitude. The problem of 
which Mr. Ives speaks has been solved by no less a one 
than the great sage of Konigsberg, by Emanuel Kant. 

It is a misapprehension to think that space is a reality, 
some object, something outside of us which exists as mate- 
rial things exist. Kant proved that objective space is an 
absurdity; it does not exist at all. He says in his 
"Transcendental Aesthetics" [Critique of Pure Reason, 
translated by J. M. D. Meiklejohn, page 42.]: " If we 
regard space and time as properties, which must be 
found in objects as things in themselves, as sine qiiibus 
non of the possibility of their existence, and reflect on 
the absurdities in which we then find ourselves involved, 



inasmuch as we are compelled, to admit the existence of 
two infinite things, which are, nevertheless, not sub- 
stances nor anything really inhering in substances. 
Nay, to admit that they are the necessary conditions of 
the existence of all things, and moreover, that they must 
■continue to exist, although all existing things were 
annihilated — we cannot blame the good Berkeley for 
-degrading bodies to mere illusory appearances. Nay, 
■even our own existence, which would, in this case, 
-depend upon the self-existent reality of such a mere 
nonentity as time, would necessarily be changed with it 
into mere appearance — an absurdity which no one has 
as yet been guilty of." 

Whatever are the points of difference between 
Kant's system and my own views, I agree with him 
w^hen he declares that space is ideal, not real. Space is 
a conception of ours and nothing more; it is just as 
much a generalization as any other abstract. Space is 
abstracted from reality. We abstract extension and 
■omit all material. 

Space in and by itself — apart from i-eality — does not 
•exist, save in our imagination. Hegel defines space as 
Das Nebcn-ein-ander der Dinge. We call it the pos- 
sible direction of motion. If space is any possible 
■direction of a point or a particle of matter, there can be 
no doubt as to the infinitude of space, for the possibility 
■of motion is infinite in every direction. This fact is 
thus self-evident from the definition of space. 

If we think of space as a real entity, it is the greatest 
mystery — a mystery which, we must confess, can never 
be solved. If with Kant we recognize that space is 
Jdeal, that it is an abstract, a chiffre for economizing 
thought, everything is clear, and there is just as little 
mystery in the infinitude of space as in the infinitude of 
a recurring decimal like 0.333 

Accordingly, we may say, with Mr. Ives, that 
•" space is the* generalization of extension." But if hs 
says "space is without limit," he should bear in mind 
that it means " the possibility of extending the possibil- 
ity of motion in every direction is without a limit." 

The only correct usage of the word infinite is that 
of the mathematical term. As a poetic license, however, 
we use it also in the sense of immeasurable. We speak 
of the infinite ocean and the interminable depth of the 
sea, although both are very definite and even not im- 
measurable. So also the "infinite" world, the universe 
is a definite reality. Certainly it is in its totality im- 
measurable; but we recognize that its energy as well 
as its matter of reality can neither increase nor decrease, 
a fact which is now indorsed by science and generally 
styled the law^ of conservation of matter and energy. 

As of space, the same thing holds good of time. 
Time is also an abstract, or, as Kant says, it is ideal; 
time does not exist by itself. Schopenhauer is right in 

*By the way, I say space is the (not a) generalization of extension. 

saying that neither past nor future exist; the only real 
time is the present and it is always. 

Time is a generalization or abstract of existence in 
regard to its continuance or possible change, but without 
reference to anything else, be it matter or form. Hegel 
calls it " Das Nach-ein-ander der Dinge." This can 
lead to a misconception if " Dinge " are taken in their 
totality as the world. The material things in their total- 
ity are always; they exist not one after another, but are 
simultaneous and are permanent. To express it in two 
words: Reality is, which is includes that it has existed 
and it is going to exist. Hegel's definition is correct 
in so far as things are considered as changeable forms. 
It is motion which changes things either in their mutual 
relation, or their forms. Time, accordingly, can only be 
measured by motion; and, indeed, time is the measure of 
motion and nothing more. If time is conceived as an 
objectively existing entity, we will soon find out that it is 
inconceivable and full of self-contradiction. Kant claims 
that objective time (just as much as objective space) is an 

Past and Future are still more complicated abstracts 
than the present. When conceiving them as objective 
existences, we are driven to statements which are incon- 
ceivable and impossible. They are without limit. 
Infinitude in time is called eternity. Eternity, con- 
ceived as a real thing, is a self-contradiction. If we 
require for some purpose the fraction i^ in the form of 

a decimal, we change it into 0.333 This decimal 

fraction is, as all agree, a chiffre for a process of taking 
three units in every ten, and this process can never be 
finished. Accordingly, 0.3333 • • • • is never equal to 
Yl ; we may carry the calculation to five, to ten, to 
a hundred or more decimals; it may be more than accu- 
rate for our special purpose, but 0.333 • • • • never will 
be equal to J/^. If I would require to have an infinite 
decimal as is 0.3333 • • • • >n full, I would be made to 
understand that this demand is absurd and its realization 
impossible. We cannot finish it and cannot even con- 
ceive an infinite decimal finished. But we use where it 
is wanted a certain chiffre for indicating or symbolizing it. 

The eternities of the Past as well as the Future are 
exactly such chiffres. And the eternity of the past, 
comprehending in one conception all the changes that 
Reality or the present existence suffered before having 
a form as at present, and the eternity of the future, 
meaning an indefinite and infinite possibility of change 
of states of things to come, both are fundamentally an 
eternity of the present time, which means that time must 
be conceived as limitless. Reality existed always and 
will exist always, and the possibility of change cannot 
be exhausted — or at least we can imagine it to be inex- 

Time is an abstract from Reality, which by all its 
changes remains. Past, Present and Future are ab- 



stracts of the states of Reality, whether they are, or 
have been, or are going to be. 

This form of expression is most correct for our pres- 
ent purpose, as it defines both past as well as future in 
the present tenses "they have " and "they are going to." 

Time and space, infinitude and eternity are no 
mysteries unless we make them such by wrongly 
attributing to them a reality which they do not possess. 

The nations of old worshiped Space and Time, 
Infinitude and Eternity, and we now smile and call them 
pagans. It is a paganism superior to fetishism, as its idol 
is woven out of the most delicate woof which can be 
obtained, viz. : the ideas of the thinker. But there is no 
essential difference; it is a difference of degree. 

Kronos and his colleagues belong to the past, but 
the worship of eternity and infinitude still obtains among 
our present generation, and will continue to be an object 
of idolatry until we understand that infinitude and 
eternity are own creations. p. c. 



The perfumed blossoms hung upon the bough — 
Like lovely Innocence it seemed to me 

Of little worth, save that within it now 
The germ of good or evil fruit might be. 

Then from this selfsame blossom there did spring 
First, unripe fruit which foul disease could breed; 

Then grew life-giving, slowly ripening; 

And then decayed — then sprang the fruitful seed. 

So with our finite actions — all deeds done 
For self alone like unripe fruit must be. 

And when our good works through unreason run 
Into excess, decaying fruit we see. 

But when through love our deeds not only may 
Bring good to self, but also to all men, 

Then are they fully ripe — yet from decay, 
Evil itself, — good seed may grow again. 

From the same stem with evil grows the good ; 

For all things God-proceeding good must be 
When in completeness they are understood 

Under the full form of Eternity. 



In your article of January 5th, entitled " The Unknowable," 
you dispose so easily of problems that I had always felt to be 
perplexing, that it awakens in me the hope that you will give us 
further word on this subject, dealing more specifically with the 
questions involved. 

Your article also prompts me to ask you one or two questions, 
which I trust you will excuse, and, if intelligibly presented, will 

You say of matter " it is a chiffre or symbol," a " generaliza- 
tion" — Yes, I see no objection to that — matter is but a generali- 
zation of all forms of matter, and as such " no mystery about it." 
The word is, as you say, " a symbol for economizing thought" — 
So also in regard to all words expressing abstract ideas. It is but 
a mental process whereby we gather to a unit all concrete 
cases. There is no sin outside of sinners sinning, no love outside 
of lovers loving, but does this class of thinking serve our pur- 
pose also with the word infinite.-' You say yes it, too, is but a 
symbol and "no mystery about it." You would, I suppose, claim 
that infinity means simply the abstract of all finities just as one 
million is a generalized statement of that number of units. This- 
is altogether thinkable, but to my mind, infinity means that 
which no adding of units will make, and to speak of "counting" 
to, or "wandering" to, infinity' is like saying; "I started to walk 
upon a road that has no end, and I walked so long and so fast 
that I at last got to the end of it." When the word infinity is used, 
a something is expressed that cannot be made or reached by addi- 
tion. In this respect it is certainly unlike anything with which we 
have had experience. The immense distances dealt with in astron- 
omy, are, by simply enlarging our unit of measurement, as readily 
disposed of as measuring thirty-six inches of ribbon, and by a sim- 
ilar process. But when we come to something which no enlarge- 
ment of our unit will aftect, something to which the diameter of 
our sidereal system would be as a unit of measurement no better 
than the diameter of a sand grain, then surely we have reached a 
something not a symbol of anything save itself, and about which 
it cannot truly be said, "there is no mystery." Does not infinite 
space present this problem .' You say, "beyond nature is empty 
non-existence." This empty non-existence is infinite room for 
existence, infinite space — space without limit. We say "without 
limit" because we cannot conceive it as having limit. The space 
we know here is not empty, so, judging from experience, there is 
reason to believe infinite space not empty — and the problem that 
presents itself to our thought is infinite fullness rather than in- 
finite emptiness. But in either case the infinite element remains 
the same; and this is the one point to which I have wished tocalJ 
your attention. 

We may say the word space is but a generalization of all exten- 
sion ; but if we say " space is without limit," we affirm a fact about 
it which is not a generalization. We say of this affirmation, it is 
true, not because we comprehend it, but because, while realizing 
that we do not comprehend it, we yet feel that it mustie, for every 
alternative thought on the subject, in its last analysis, throws u» 
back on this one. 

If you should ask for proof, I admit it is wanting; but cer- 
tainly this is the thought the word infinite implies— not a gener- 
alization or symbol, but a something of which we have no proof, 
yet feel must be. Yours truly, L. T. IvKS. 



To the Editor: Morris, Grundy Co., March lo, iSSS. 

I have a two-fold object in the present address: 

One is the expression of appreciatory pleasure fell in reading 
your interpretation of "Monism," of several months since, and to 
congratulate yourself and tite managing board on the fact of 
putting The Open Court squarely on the Monistic issue. 

I am astonished to see so many of your contributors, either 
careless or indifferent to this fundamental sentiment. 

Nature presents no other field of labor for the Scientist but 
that of the Monistic order. 

The second consideration is a personal matter in this same 
line of philosophy. Much of my time, for the last twenty-five 
years, has been devoted to the study of man as standing at the 
head of the phenomenal universe; and what was my great joy lc» 




find, on reading the article above referred to, with man}- of jour 
articles in harmony with Mr. Hegeler's sentiments, that the 
course of research adopted was strictly in line with this monistic 

He who follows Nature will, inevitably, travel in this path. 

When the dias of education was overcome the following con- 
clusions were self-evident: 

1. That matter is the only constituent of the universe. 

2. That matter, from whatever source, contained -vithin itself 
all the attributes, powers and functions to do and accomplish 
all that is done by or with matter. 

3. That matter must not only develop in the combination of 
forms, but that such perpetual evolution resulted, step by step, in 
a gradual refinement of matter so engaged. 

4. The inevitable result, then, of such upward movement 
must reach the spiritual plane of matter in time. In short, I 
was driven to the conclusion that spirit is a sublimated essence 
of matter. 

5. That the human origin is necessarily terrestrial, body, 
soul and spirit. 

6. If man has a spiritual part it must of necessity contain 
the elements of immortality. 

When I say that there are processes of the natural world 
recognizable by the human powers by which these facts can all be 
demonstrated, I speak what I do know. And if " Science is the 
classification of natural facts in reference to principle" the 
spiritual origin and his immortal existence of man can be 
brought within the range of demonstrated philosophy. 

This is a wonderful age of discovery. The intellect of man 
is his sole reliance; and is it not quite as consistent that he should 
be spiritually blessed and comforted, while he is attaining to so 
many temporal blessings.' 

Feeling the promptings of a higher nature he cannot be su- 
premely blessed until he can fairly fathom the depths of his own 
nature, as to his origin, to the make-up of his being, and his final 
destiny. If this philosophy has any fact in it, these problems are 
all solved on a " scientific basis." " Truth only wants a hearing." 

L. A. Fisher. 

Prof. Georg von Gizycki, by reason of the great distance, 
was unable to revise the translation and proof-sheets of his 
essay " Determinism versus Indeterminism " in Nos. 25 and 26 
of The Open Court. In a letter which was received this week 
he praises the translation as being excellent, and requests at the 
same time that the following corrections and substitutions be 

Page 730, column 2, line 11 from above, read ; Reasons are 
cognitions, instead of: Causes are acknowledgments. 

Page 731, column i, line 6 from below, read: regular, instead 
of: imperative. 

Page 731, column 2, line 4 from above, read: .wme/>-oceii«, 
instead of: all processes. 

Page 732, column 2, line 7 from above, read: reason, instead 
of: cause. 

Page 732, column 2, line 17 from above, read: annihilate, 
instead of: ignore. 

P^ge 733, column 2, line 12 from above, read: contrary 
action, instead of: contradiction. 

Page 733, column 2, line 26 from above, read : ;/ has been said, 
instead of: as has been said. 

Page 733, column 2, line 13 from below, read : //ic external 
circumstances, instead of: like circumstances. 

Page 762, column i, line 20 from above, read: this universe, 
instead of: this will. 

Bray, M. A., LL.D , we inadvertently located the author in Boon- 
ville, Md., instead of Boonville, Mo. The book is published and 
sold by the author for 60 cents. The St. Louis Republican speaks 
of this publication in the following terms: 

"The Broad Church has appeared. In its representative there 
is no concealment It has moreover come with a force of convic- 
tion which will not easily be put down, and with a reasoned argu- 
ment which it will tax the ability of his opponents to meet ... A 
lucid statement. ... an able pamphlet. . . . likely to make him 
well known not only here but elsewhere." 

In No. 28 of The Open Court on page SoS, in our review of 
'Theism or the Knowability of God," by the Rev. Henry Truro 


CHAPTER XL— Concluded. 

This was a gloomy morning for the Hummel fam- 
ily. Before breakfast Herr Hummel sat down to his 
writing table and composed an advertisement for the 
daily paper, in which ten thalers reward was offered to- 
any one who would discover the malignant poisoner of 
his dog. The ten thalers were underlined with three 
dashes. Then he went to his window and looked sav- 
agely upon the haunts of his opponent and on the Chi- 
nese temple which had been the cause of this new dis- 
turbance. Then he turned to his wife and, pacing up 
and down, said: 

" I have no doubt about the case." 

" I do not understand you," answered his wife, who 
on this trying morning was taking a second break- 
fast; "and I do not understand how you can be certain 
in this matter. It is true that there is a something about 
those people which is always repugnant to us, and it 
may be a misfortune to have such neighbors. But you 
have no right to assume that they have poisoned the dogs. 
I cannot think that such an idea would have entered into 
the head of Frau Hahn. I admit that she is an ordinary 
woman, and the doctor says it was dumplings, which 
points to a woman as being the guilty one. But when 
our red dog was caught with the partridges in their 
kitchen, she sent me back the dog with her compli- 
ments, and she thought it was not good behavior in him,, 
as he had eaten three of the birds. That was civil, and 
I can find no murderous intention in it. And he surely 
does not look as if he would do anything to our dogs at 

"He is malicious," growled Herr Hummel; "but 
you have always had your own opinion about those 
people. He has been hypocritical toward me from the 
first day when he stood by his pile of bricks before 
these windows and turned his back to me. I have al- 
ways allowed myself to be persuaded by you women to 
treat him as a neighbor with greetings and civil speeches;, 
and I have been silent when you have carried on your 
idle gossip with the woman over there." 

" Our idle gossip, Henry," exclaimed the wife, set- 
ting down her coffee-cup with a clatter; " I must beg of 
you not to forget what is due to me." 




" Well, well, it was not unkindly meant," Herr 
Hummel hastened to add, in order to allay the storm 
which he had inopportunely brought upon himself. 

" What you meant you must know, I take it as I heard 
it; it shows little feeling in you. Hummel, on account of 
a dead dog to treat your wife and daughter as idle gossips." 

This disagreement added still more to the gloom 
and ill-humor of the morning, but did not in any way 
advance the discovery of the culprit. It was in vain 
that the mistress of the house, in order to turn away her 
husband's suspicions from the Hahn family, raised many 
other conjectures, and, with Laura's help, tried to throw 
the blame on their own employes or the watchman, 
and that she at last suggested even the shop-porter over 
tne way as the possible evil-doer. Alas! the reputation 
of the dogs was so dreadful that the Hummel family 
could easier count the few men who did not wish evil 
to the dogs, than the many whose wish and interest it 
was to see the monsters at Cocytus. The news ran 
like wildfire through the streets, there was a crowd round 
the fruit-woman as on 'Change, and people spoke of 
the evil deed everywhere without pity, hostilely and 
maliciously. Even among those in the streets who 
tried to show outward signs of sympathy, the prevailing 
feeling was hardly concealed. It is true there were 
some sympathisers. First Frau Knips, the washer- 
woman, with voluble indignation; then even Knips the 
younger ventured pityingly into the neighborhood of 
the house — he was a clerk in the hostile business, hav- 
ing gone over to the enemy, but never ceased to show 
respect to his former instructor on all occasions, and to pay 
unacceptable homage to Friiulein Laura. At last the 
comedian of the theater, whom they generally invited 
on Sundays, came, and related many amusing stories. 
But even these few faithful adherents were suspected by 
some of the household. Gabriel distrusted the Knips 
family and Laura detested the clerk, and the comedian, 
formerly a welcome guest, had, some evenings before, 
in passing by, inconsiderately expressed to a companion, 
that it would be a praiseworthy deed to remove these dogs 
from the stage of life. Now this unhappy idea was re- 
peated to the mistress of the house, and it lay heavy on her 
heart. For fifteen years she had accepted this man's 
homage with pleasure, shown him much friendliness, 
and given him enthusiastic applause at the theater, not 
to speak of the Sunday dinner and preserves; and 
now when the buffoon lowered his head sympathisingly 
and expressed his horror, his face, from the long habit 
of comic action, lengthened itself so hypocritically, that 
Frau Hummel suddenly saw a devil grinning out of the 
features of the once valued man; her sharp remarks 
upon Judas frightened in return the comedian, because 
it revealed to him the danger of losing his best house of 
entertainment, and the more dolorous he felt, the more 
equivocal became his expression. 

During all these occurrences the Hahn family kept 
quiet in the background. They displayed no signs ot 
undue pleasure, and no unnatural sympathy came from 
the silent walls. But at mid-day, when Frau Hummel 
went to refresh herself a little in the air, she met her 
neighbor; and Frau Hahn, who since the garden scene 
had felt herself in the wrong, stopped and expressed her 
regret in a friendly way that Frau Hummel had expe- 
rienced such an unpleasant accident. But the hostile 
feeling and suspicion of her husband echoed in the 
answer. Frau Hummel spoke coldly, and both separated 
with a feeling of animosity. 

Meanwhile Laura sat at her writing-table, and noted 
down in her private journal the events of the day, and 
with a light heart she concluded with these lines: 

"They're dead and gone! Removed the curse of hate — 
Erased the stain is from the book of fate." 

This prophecy contained just as much truth as if, 
after the first skirmish of the siege of Troy, Cassandra 
had noted it down in Hector's album ; — it was confuted 
by the endless horrors of the subsequent time. 

At all events, Spitehahn was not gone; his life was 
saved. But the night's treachery had exercised a sorrow- 
ful influence on the creature, both body and soul. He 
had never been beautiful; but now his body was thin, 
his head swelled, and his shaggy coat bristly. The 
glass splinters which the skillful doctor had removed 
from his stomach seemed to have got somehow into his 
hairs, so that they started bristling from his body like a 
bottle-brush ; his curly tail became bare, only at the end 
there remained a tuft of hair, like a bent cork-screw 
with a cork at the end. He no longer wagged his tail; 
his yelping ceased; night and day he roved about 
silently; only occasionally one heard a low, significant 
growl. He came back to life, but all softer feelings 
were dead in him ; he became averse to human beings, 
and fostered dark suspicions in his soul; all attachment 
and fidelity ceased ; instead of which he showed lurk- 
ing malice and general vindictiveness. Yet Herr Hum- 
mel did not mind this change; the dog was the victim 
of unheard-of wickedness, which had been intended for 
the injury of himself, the proprietor of the house; and 
had he been ten times more hideous and savage to 
human beings, Herr Hummel would still have made a 
pet of him. He stroked him, and did not take it amiss 
when the dog showed his gratitude by snapping at the 
fingers of his master. 

Whilst the flames of just irritation still shot forth from 
this new firebrand of the family peace, Fritz returned 
from his journey. His mother immediately related to 
him all the events of the last few weeks — the bell-ring- 
ing, the dogs, the new hostility. 

" It was well that you were away. Have you always 
had a good feather bed? At the ipns they are very 
regardless of the beds of strangers. I hope that in the 




country, where they rear geese themselves, they may 
have shown more care. As regards this new quarrel, 
talk to your father about it, and do what you can to re- 
store peace." 

Fritz listened silently to his mother's account, and 
said soothingly : 

"You know it is not the first time; it will pass over." 

This news did not contribute to increase the cheer- 
fulness of the Doctor. Sadly he looked from his room 
on the neighboring house and the windows of his friend. 
In a short time a new household would be established 
there; might not, then, his friendship with the Professor 
be affected by the disturbances which of old existed 
between the two houses? He then began to arrange 
the notes which he had collected on his journey, but the 
footsteps on the grotto gave him an uncomfortable feel- 
ing, and the track of the wild hunters made him think 
of Use's wise words, " It is all superstition." He put 
away his papers, seized his hat, and went out meditating, 
and not exactly gaily disposed, into the park. When he 
saw Laura Hummel a few steps before him on the same 
path, he turned aside, in order not to meet any one from 
the hostile house. 

Laura was carrying a little basket of fruit to her 
godmother. The old lady was residing in her summer 
house in a neighboring village, and a shady footpath 
through the park led to it. It was lonely at this hour 
in the wood, and only the birds observed how free from 
care was the smile that played round the little mouth of 
the agile girl, and how full of glee were the beautiful 
deep blue eyes that peered into the thicket. But al- 
though Laura seemed to hasten, she stopped frequently. 
First it occurred to her that the leaves of the copper 
beech would look well in her brown felt hat; she broke 
off a branch, took off her hat, and stuck the leaves on it; 
and in order to give herself the pleasure of looking at 
it, she held her hat in her hand and put a gauze hand- 
kerchief over her head for protection against the rays of 
the sun. Then she admired the chequered light thrown 
by the sun on the road. Then a squirrel ran across the 
path, scrambled quick as lightning up a tree and hid 
itself in the branches; and Laura looked up and per- 
ceived its beautiful bushy tail through the foliage, and 
she fancied herself on the top of the tree, in the midst 
of the foliage and fruit, swinging on a branch, then 
leaping from one bough to another, and finally taking a 
walk — high in the air, on the tops of the trees — over 
the fluttering leaves as though upon green hills. 

When she came near the water that flowed on the 
other side of the path, she perceived that a large num- 
ber of frogs, sitting in the sun on the bank, sprang into 
the water with great leaps, as if by word of command, 
and she ran up to them and saw with astonishment that 
the frogs looked quite different in the water from what 
they did on land, not at all so clumsy ; they went along 

like little gentlemen with big stomachs and thick necks^ 
but with long legs which struck out vigorously. Then 
when a large frog steered up to her and popped his 
head out of the water, she drew back and laughed at 
herself. Thus she passed through the wood, herself a 
butterfly, and at peace with all the world. 

But her fate pursued her. Spitehahn had, from his 
usual place on the stone steps, watched her proceedings j 
from under the wild hairs which hung over his head 
like a moustache, he had squinted after her, got up at 
last and trotted silently behind her, undisturbed by the 
rays of the sun, the basket of fruit, or the red handker- 
chief of his young mistress. Between the town and the 
village the road ascended from the valley and its trees 
to a bare plain, on which the soldiery of the town some- 
times practiced their drill, and where in peaceful hours 
a shepherd pastured his flock; the path ran obliquely 
over the open plain to the village. Laura stopped on 
the height at times to admire the distant sheep and the 
brown shepherd, who looked very picturesque with his 
large hat and crook. She had already passed the flock 
when she heard a barking and threatening cry behind 
her; she turned round and saw the peaceful community 
in wild uproar. The sheep scattered in all directions — 
some running away frightened, others huddled together in 
a ditch ; the shepherd's dogs barked, and the shepherd and 
his boy ran with raised sticks round the disturbed flock. 
While Laura was looking astonished at the tumult, the 
shepherd and his boy rushed up to her, followed by two 
large dogs. She felt herself seized by a rough man's 
hand ; she saw the angry face of the shepherd, and his 
stick was brandished close before her eyes. 

"Your dog has dispersed my flock. I demand pun- 
ishment and compensation." 

Frightened and pale as death, Laura sought for her 
purse ; she could scarcely find words to say, " I have no 
dog; let me go, good shepherd." 

But the man shook her arm roughly. Two gigantic 
black beasts sprang upon her and snapped at her hand- 

"It is your dog; I know the red beast," cried the 

This was quite true, for Spitehahn had indeed ob- 
served the flock of sheep and devised his reckless plan. 
Suddenly, yelping hoarsely, he had sprung on a sheep 
and had bitten it severely in the leg. Then followed 
the flight of the flock, rushing together in a heap — 
Spitehahn in the midst of them, barking, scratching and 
biting — now along a dry ditch to the left, then down 
the slope to the wood into the thickest copse. At length 
he trotted home in safety, showing his teeth, and leaving 
his young lady to perish under the hand of the shep- 
herd, who was still brandishing his stick over her. 

" Let go of the young lady," called out the angry 
voice of a man. Fritz Hahn sprang forward, pushed 



back the arm of the shepherd and caught Laura fainting 
in his arms. 

The interposition of a third party drew from the shep- 
herd new complaints, at the conclusion of which he again, 
in a flaming passion, tried to lay hold of the young lady, 
and was about to set his dogs at the Doctor. But Fritz, 
deeply roused, exclaimed, " Keep your dogs back, and 
behave yourself like a man, or I will have you punished. 
If a strange dog has injured your flock, adequate com- 
pensation shall be made. I am ready to be security to 
you or to the possessor of the sheep." 

Thus he spoke, holding Laura firmly in his arms; 
her head lay upon his shoulders, and the red handker- 
chief hung over his waistcoat down to his breast. "Com- 
pose yourself, dear Fraulein," he said, with tender anx- 

Laura raised her head and looked fearfully on the 
•countenance which, excited with tenderness and sym- 
pathy, bent over her, and she perceived her situation 
with alarm. Fearful fate! he again for the third time 
the inevitable friend and preserver! She extricated 
herself from him, and said, in a faint voice, " I thank 
you. Doctor, I can walk alone now." 

" No, I cannot leave j^ou thus," cried Fritz, and 
again began to negotiate with the shepherd, who mean- 
while had fetched the two victims of the murderous dog, 
and laid them down as proofs of the ill deed. Fritz put 
his hand into his pocket and handed the shepherd an 
installment of the money promised as compensation, 
gave him his name, and settled a future meeting with 
the man, who, after the appearance of the money, became 
more calm. 

" I pray you take my arm," he said, turning chival- 
rously to Laura. 

"I cannot accept that," replied the maiden, quite 
confused, and thinking of the existing hostility. 

" It is only my duty as a man," said Fritz, sooth- 
ingly. " You are too exhausted to go alone." 

" Then I beg of you to take me to my godmother; 
«he lives near here." 

Fritz took the little basket from her, collected the 
fruit that had fallen out, and then conducted her to the 

"I should not have been so much afraid of the 
man," said Laura, " but the black beasts were so fear- 

She took his arm hesitatingly; for now, when the 
fright had passed, she felt the painfulness of her situa- 
tion, and alas! conscience-smitten. For she had early 
in the day thought the traveling toilet of the Doctor, as 
she saw him return home, unendurable; but Fritz was 
not a man who could long be considered unendurable. 
He was now full of tender feelings and care for her, 
endeavored to spare her every roughness on the road, 
stretching out his foot in going along to put the little 

stones out of the way. He began an indifferent conver- 
sation about the godmother, which obliged her to talk, 
and brought other thoughts into her head. It happened 
besides, that he himself highly esteemed the god- 
mother; indeed, she had once, when he was a" school- 
boy, given him a cherry-cake and he had in return 
composed a poem on her birth-day. At the word poem 
Laura was astounded; in that house, too! Could they 
write poetry? But then the Doctor spoke very slight- 
ingly of the elevating creations of happier hours, and 
when she asked him : 

" Have you, indeed, written poetry?" 

He answered, laughingly, " Only for home use, like 
every one." 

Then she felt quite depressed by his cold disregard 
of poetry. There certainly was a difference between 
one style of verse and another; at Hahn's they only 
wrote about cherry-cakes. But immediately after- 
wards she blamed herself for her unbecoming thoughts 
towards her benefactor. So she turned in a friendly 
way to him and spoke of the pleasure she had taken 
just before in the squirrels of the wood. She had 
once bought one of a boy in the streets and had set 
it free, and the little animal had twice sprung from the 
trees upon her shoulders; and she had at last run away, 
with tears in her eyes, that it might remain in the 
woods. Now, when she saw a squirrel, it always 
appeared as if it belonged to her; and she undoubtedly 
deceived herself, but the squirrels seemed to be of the 
same opinion. This story led to the remarkable discov- 
ery that the Doctor had had a similar experience with 
a small owl, and he imitated the way in which the owl 
nodded its head when he brought in its food; and in 
doing so his spectacles looked so like owl's eyes that 
Laura could not help laughing. 

Conversing in this way they arrived at the god- 
mother's door. Fritz relinquished Laura's arm and 
wished to take leave. She remained standing on the 
threshold with her hand on the latch and said, in an 
embarrassed tone: 

" Will you not come in at least for a moment, as you 
know my godmother?" 

" With pleasure," replied the Doctor. 

The godmother was sitting in her summer cottage, 
which was somewhat smaller, damper and less pleasant 
than her lodging in the town. When the children of 
the hostile houses entered together — first Laura, still 
pale and solemn; behind her the Doctor, with an equally 
serious countenance — the good lady was so astonished 
that she sat staring on the sofa and could only bring out 
the words: 

" What do I see? Is it possible? You two children 
together! " 

This exclamation dispelled the magic which for a 
moment had bound the young souls to each other. 



Laura went coldly up to the godmother and related 
how the Doctor had accidentally come up at the time of 
her distress. But the Doctor explained that he had only 
wished to bring the young lady safely to her; then he 
inquired after the health of the godmother and took 
his leave. 

While the godmother was applying restoratives and 
•determining that Laura should return home another 
way under the care of her maid-servant, the Doctor 
went back with light steps to the wood, llis frame of 
mind w^as entirely changed and a smile frequently 
passed over his countenance. The thought was con- 
stantly recurring to him how the maiden had rested in 
his arms. He had felt her bosom against his; her hair 
had touched his cheeks and he had gazed on her white 
neck. The worthy youth blushed at the thought and 
hastened his steps. In one thing at least the Professor 
■was not wrong — a woman is, after all, very different 
from the ideal that a man derives from the study of hu- 
man life and the history of the world. It certainly 
seemed to the Doctor now that there was something 
very attractive in waving locks, rosy cheeks and a beau- 
tiful form. He admitted that this discovery was not 
new, but he had not hitherto felt its value with such 
•distinctness. It had been so touching when she recov- 
ered from her swoon, opened her eyes and withdrew 
herself bashfully from his arms; also his having 
defended her so valiantly filled him with cheerful pride. 
He stopped on the field of battle and laughed out right 
heartily. Then he went along the same road which 
Laura had come from the wood ; he looked along the 
ground as if he could discover the traces of her little 
feet upon the gravel, and he enjoyed the brightness and 
warmth of the air, the alluring song of the birds, the 
fluttering of the dragon-flies, with as light a heart as his 
pretty neighbor had done shortly before. Then the 
recollection of his friend came across him; he thought, 
with satisfaction, of the agitations of the Professor's 
mind and the commotion which Thusnelda had brought 
into it. The result had had a droll effect upon the Pro- 
fessor; his friend had been very comical in the pathos 
of his rising passion. Such a firm, earnest being con- 
trasted curiously with the whimsical attacks which fate 
makes on the life of earth-born creatures. When he 
arrived at the last bush in which rustled one of the little 
grasshoppers, whose chirping he had often heard in 
times of anxiety, he spoke out gaily, " Even these must 
be at it; first the sheep, then the grasshoppers." He 
began singing half aloud a certain old song in which the 
grasshoppers were asked to go away and no longer to 
burden his spirit. Thus he returned home from his 
walk in right cheerful frame of mind, like a man of the 

" Henry," began Frau Hummel, in the afternoon, 
solemnly to her husband, " compose yourself to listen to 

a terrible story. I conjure you to remain calm and 
avoid a scene, and take pains to overcome your aversion; 
and, above all, consider our feelings." 

She then related to him the misfortune that had oc- 

" As to the dog," replied Hummel, emphatically, 
"it has not been clearly shown that it was our dog. 
The testimony of the shepherd does not satisfy me; I 
know this fellow and require an impartial witness. 
There are so many strange dogs running about the 
city that the safety of the community is endangered, and 
I have often said it is a disgrace to our police. But if it 
should be our dog, I cannot see anything particularly 
wrong about it; if the sheep stretched out its leg to him 
and he bit it a little, that is its own affair and there is 
nothing to be said about it. As to what further con- 
cerns the shepherd, I know his master — so that is my 
affair. Finally, as regards the young man over there, 
it is your affair. I do not wish to visit on him the bad 
behavior of his parents, but I will have nothing to do 
with those people." 

" I must call your attention to the fact. Hummel," 
interposed his wife, " that the Doctor has already paid 
money to the shepherd." 

" Money for my child ? That I cannot permit," ex- 
claimed Hummel. " How much was it ?" 

" But father " said Laura, imploringly. 

" How can you expect," exclaimed Frau Hummel, 
reproachfully, " that your daughter, in danger of death, 
should count the groschens that her rescuer paid for 

" That's just like a woman," grumbled the master of 
the house; "you have no head for business; can you not 
incidentally ask him? The shepherd I take upon my- 
self, and shall not trouble myself about the Doctor. 
Only this I tell you : the affair must be shortly settled 
and our relations with that house must remain as before. 
All I ask is to go on smoothly and I will take no notice 
of these Hahns." 

After this decision he left the ladies to their feelings. 

" Your father is right," said Frau Hummel, " to 
leave the principal matter to us; with his harsh dispo- 
sition thanks would come very ungraciously." 

" Mother," said Laura, entreatingly, " you have 
more tact; can you not go over there?" 

" My child," answered Frau Hummel, clearing her 
throat, "that is not easy. This unfortunate occurrence 
of the dogs has left us women too much at variance. 
No, as you are the principal person now concerned, 
you must go over there yourself." 

" I cannot visit the Doctor," exclaimed Laura, 

" That is not necessary," said Frau Hummel, sooth- 
ingly. "There is one advantage in this neighborhood — 
that we see from our windows when the men go out; 


then you shall rush over to the mother and address 
your thanks for the son to her. You are very judicious, 
my child, and will know how to act." 

Thereupon Laura sat at the window, not well 
pleased to sit as watcher upon her neighbors; this lying 
in wait was repugnant to her. At last the Doctor ap- 
peared on the threshold; he looked the same as usual; 
there was nothing chivalrous to be seen in him; his 
figure was slender and he was of middle height — Laura 
liked tall people. He had an intellectual countenance, 
but it was concealed by his large spectacles, which 
gave him a pedantic appearance; when he did smile his 
face became quite handsome, but his usual serious ex- 
pression was not becoming to him. Fritz disappeared 
round the corner and Laura put on her hat with a heavy 
heart and went into the hostile house, which she had 
never yet entered. Dorchen, who was not in the secret, 
looked astonished at the visit, but with quick intuition 
connected it with the return of the Doctor and an- 
nounced, of her own accord, that neither of the gentle- 
men were at home, but that Frau Hahn was in the 

Frau Hahn was sitting in the Chinese temple. Both 
women stood opposite each other with a feeling of em- 
barrassment; both thought at the same time of their last 
conversation and to both the recollection was painful. 
But with Frau Hahn the danger to which Laura had 
been exposed at once overcame this natural nervousness. 
"Ah, you poor young lady!" she began, but while 
overflowing with compassion, with delicate tact she 
drew away from the Chinese building, feeling that it 
was not an appropriate place for this visit and invited 
her to sit on a little bench in front of the white Muse. 
This was the pleasantest spot about the house; here the 
orange tree smiled upon its donor, and Laura could 
bring herself into a grateful mood. She told her 
neighbor how deeply she felt indebted to the Doctor, 
and she begged her to say this to her son, because 
she herself in the confusion had not properly fulfilled 
this duty. She then entered into the necessary busi- 
ness about the bad shepherd. Good Frau Hahn was 
pleased with her thanks and in a motherly way begged 
Laura to take off her hat for a little while, as it was 
warm in the garden. But Laura did not take off her 
hat. She expressed, in fitting terms, her pleasure in the 
garden, said how beautifully it bloomed, and heard with 
satisfaction of the splendid orange tree which had been 
sent anonymously to Herr Hahn, the fruit of which was 
sweet, for Herr Hahn had celebrated the return of his 
son by an artistic drink, for which he had taken the first 
fruit of the little tree. 

It was altogether a diplomatic visit, not extended 
unnecessarily; and Laura was glad when, on departing, 
she had repeated her compliments and thanks to the 

In Laura's secret record also the events of this dajr 
were very shortly disposed of. Even an observation 
she had begun on the happiness of the lonely dwellers- 
in the wood remained unfinished. How was it, Laura? 
— you, who write down everything; who, when aa 
insect or a sparrow hops in at the window, burst forth 
into verse! Here was an event influencing your wholfr 
life- — danger, unconsciousness in the arms of a stranger,, 
who, in spite of his learned aspect, is a handsome 
youth! This would be the time to depict and indulge 
in fancy dreams. Capricious girl, why does this ad- 
venture lie like a dead stone in the fantastic landscape 
that surrounds thee? Is it with thee as with the trav- 
eler, who, weary of the Alpine scenery, looks below 
him and wonders that this marvelous nature so little- 
impresses him, till gradually, but perhaps not for years^ 
the scenes pursue him, waking or dreaming, and draw 
him anew to the mountains? Or has the nearness of 
the wicked beast who occasioned the outrage impeded 
the flight of your soaring wings? There he lies before 
your threshold, red and ragged, and licks his moustache^ 

(,To be conlinued.) 



EDWARD C. HEGELER, President. DR. PAUL CARUS, Editor. 

The Open Court is devoted to the work of conciliating- Relig^ion with. 
Science. The founder and editor have found this conciliation in Monism — to- 
present and defend which is the main object of The Open Court. 

The Open Court has for contributors the leading^ thinkers of ihe old. 
and new world. 

Translations from the most prominent authors of Europe have been pTo- 
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bearing- on scientific, religious, social and economic questions. 


All communications should be addressed to 


Nixon Building, 175 La Salle Street, 


Conte nts of N o. 32. 

THE CONDITIONS OF LIFE. W. Prkyer. /. Trans- 
la/ ed/rom the German by F. W. Morton 86S 

mund Montgomery 865. 


Swift 86» 



Sub Specie iEternitatis. Wm. Schuyler 87^ 


An Inquiry about the Infinitude of Space. L. T. Ives 872 
A Reader of Three-Score-and-Ten briefly Defines his 

Monism. L. A. Fisher 872 


The Lost Manuscript. (Continued.) Gustav Freytag 873: 

The Open Court 


Devoted to the Work of Conciliating Religion with Science. 

No. 33. (Vol. IL— 7.) 

CHICAGO, APRIL 12, 1888. 

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Translated jrom the German in ike Gegen-wart by finpK, 

If I were to tell a man ^vho had never seen ice and 
was wondering what had happened to a lake in winter, 
« The water is frozen," this would be an explanation. 
This explanation contains two elements, viz.: 

( I.) A sozcnd, which certainly cannot contribute in 
the least to the explication of the matter. 

(2.) A concept, which in its accurate acceptance 
likewise implies no more than the phenomenon itself, as 
present before us and as perceived by us. 

Why is this simple statement then accepted as satis- 
factory? Here is a difficult question, and it may not be 
answered without a consideration of the nature and ori- 
gin of reason. Locke has dealt with the problem and 
deduced from it the uncertainty and mere seemingness 
of most human knowledge. 

The distinctive feature of my answer to the man is 
that the phenomenon is generalized by the concept 
" frozen " or, more correctly, included under a general 

Concepts are generalizations and it is these general- 
ized concepts that constitute the substance of human 

When it is real cold, all living creatures feel it. But 
only the human being can say: " I am cold." A man 
can say this on a hot summer's day, he can think it, even 
when not affected by it. Why? Because he possesses 
general concepts. 

And how has he come to possess them ? This is the 
most perplexing of the questions that touch humanity, 
for it touches the origin of reason and reason is man. 

If I should say : " Man thinks because he speaks : he 
has general concepts because he has words," I know 
that nine-tenths of my readers would shake their heads 
and say : " No. Man speaks because he thinks." All 
great truths are known first as paradoxes, and a long 
time elapses before people become accustomed to them, 
before they leave the old way of thinking and accommo- 
date themselves to the new. How long it was before 
men would distrust their eyes, and believe that it was 
the earth that revolved and not the sun ! 

Words are the fixed points which define the limits 
of the concepts they have brought into existence. With- 
out words there would be only fleeting, shadowy and 

disorderly impressions. An idea has never existed in 
man without its material counterpart, the word. And 
yet, I do not say that with every word as a sound there 
must be an accompanying idea. Parrots imitate our 
words, yet produce only sounds; to them they are 
sounds and nothing else, just as the words of an unknown 
tongue are mere sounds to us. The sound is dead, 
the word is alive and the life of a word is in the idea. 

The great problem is, how ideas are united with 
sounds and thus made alive. This question has engaged 
the attention of philosophers of all ages, while great 
acumen and imaginative talent have been exercised in 
its soluti m. System upon system arose wherein fancy 
and imagination were given full scope, and I firmly 
believe there is no topic upon which so great a variety 
of opinions has been expressed and so many treatises 
written as upon the origin of language. It was intui- 
tively felt that this was the point to place the lever, and 
that, if their efforts to move the rock which buried the 
secret would be successful, a fountain of everlasting and 
living truth would leap forth to clarify the province of 
human thought and human activity. 

Yet, to reach this point, the flights of fancy were 
first to be restrained. This was accomplished by compar- 
ative philology. Its cardinal and motive principle was: 
There is a methodical, a scientific line of investigation 
which will lead to this secret and its elucidation. Criti- 
cal thought and not dogmatic doctrine must guide us 
here, and careful investigations of empirical facts are to 
form the basis of all our conclusions. Whatever the ulti- 
mate result of our efforts may be, it is not permissible 
to determine it beforehand and employ it hypothetically, 
be its merits what they may. Modern science has ma- 
terially modified the ideas of former times. The inter- 
est which, from the time of Plato to the eighteenth 
century, fettered philosophical thought to such topics as 
these, has been displaced by new interests of a totally 
different character. How radical these changes have 
been needs no better illustration than the fact that the 
Societe de Linguistique in Paris, ranking among its 
members the foremost philologists of France, declares in 
one of the first clauses of its constitution, " it will accept 
no manner of contribution relating to the origin of 
language or the construction of a universal tongue."* 

♦Max MUlIer, in a lecture delivered before the University of Cambridge, 
May 28, iS6S. 



Thereafter imaginative works ceased to figure in 
this realm. This was necessary and beneficent if we 
consider what they had achieved. Yet philosophy, too, 
was banished from the province of philological investi- 
gation — a province in which philosophy is ordained to 
act a vital part — and this was unwise. 

For what else is philosophy than the discovering of 
comprehensive and general points of view in a// sciences ? 
It is not the empirical material gathered together, it is 
the wonderful power of thought that has raised Coper- 
nicus, Galileo, Kepler and Newton to the rank of heroes 
in Natural Science. 

With that interdict the question of the origin of lan- 
guage was banished from its natural and true sphere. 
The question was occasionally touched upon by the 
physiological and evolutionary thecJries of Helmholtz, 
Darwin, Broca and Kussmaul, and at times was dis- 
cussed in the empty phraseology of a degenerate pseudo- 

It would have been, in my estimation, more worthy of 
a philological society that included the master-minds of 
science, to have said : " No philosophy has the right to 
advance an opinion upon the origin of reason, the nature 
of thought — its highest problems — without having first 
recognized and taken cognizance of the results of com- 
parative philology ; for language is the body of thought 
and both came into being together." Instead of this, the 
society divorced philosophy from philology, and said : 
" Look about thee for another source of information on 
the origin of language; there is nothing known of it 
here and we shall not trouble ourselves further about 
subjects that lie beyond our jurisdiction." Thus dis- 
owned, philosophy asked: "At least tell me of the 
nature of human speech and wherein it differs from 
that of animals, with which it is so commonly compared. 
I must have some principle to guide me in my specula- 
tive peregrinations." " No information on that point 
either; that's not within our province. Thou shalt 
find what thou wantst in Brehm's Aiti7nal Life; he has 
drawn up the complete vocabulary of a singularly clever 
parrot. That will show thee how far the linguistic 
power of an animal goes." Thus the philologists said: 
and no less a considerable man than Friedrich Miiller 
takes compassionate leave in these words: "The differ- 
ence between the language of man and that of brute 
creation is quantitative and not qualitative." 

This certainly simplifies the matter greatly, for it 
thus becomes a question of mere calculation. Brehm's 
"singularly clever" parrot, that Mezzofanti of brute 
creation, could use in the neighborhood of 150 words 
with intelligent discrimination; on the other hand the 
total vocabulary of English miners in certain districts 
counts but 300. It is now plain how many words the 
parrot will have to learn to arrive at that stage of intel- 
ligence the English miner has attained and thus be able 

to verify his claim to universal suffrage. It would be a 
great step forward for all parrots, and they could at once 
politely request that the nonsensical prattlers of their 
human kindred should not be honored with their name. 

But levity aside. In order that the reader may 
profit by this discussion, I propose to specify an infallible 
criterion which will, in every case, enable him to avoid 
confusion when oracular wisdom speaks of the identity 
or analogy of human and animal speech. 

One hundred years ago (iSSi) a plain and simple 
man, Immanuel Kant, gave the world a commonplace 
looking book. It w^as printed on gray paper, was 
highly inaccurate and bore the strange title: Critique 
of Pure Reason. This book had manifold and im- 
portant consequences, which cannot be enumerated here. 
One of them which is perhaps best known is that 
Berlin, after Hegel, derived from this book its name the 
" City of Pure Reason" 

We may read to-day in the aforesaid book (Johann 
Friedrich Hartknoch published it at Riga) all manner of 
strange and useful things, as, for example: That the 
whole business of the human reason is with representa- 
tions (not with mere sensations) and that these representa- 
tions arranged, co-ordinated and moulded by concepts, 
become objects which are the only true content of all 
our rational thinking, and that our thought therefore 
assumes an objective character throughout. And it fol- 
lows thence that if we deviate from the paths of empir- 
ical cognition, we shall lose ourselves in hallucinations, 
extravagances and in the mazes of a cognitive activity 
that has overstepped its true limits. 

Representations and objects then which are given 
by the senses, but are moulded and formed by reason 
and stamped by concepts! Now we may reveal to the 
reader the promised secret. It is this: Every word in 
human speech had, originally, reference to an object 
which was signified by a word, and words have, at the 
very start, first received meaning and intelligibility from 
these representations. 

Let us return to the example given at the start. 
" The water is frozen" and " I am freezing." Should 
the question be put to the reader how the concept 
and word " freezing" have arisen, the chances are a 
thousand to one that he will launch into one of the cur- 
rent theories as to the origin of language and answer, 
"From a sensation, of course 1" Freezing, shivering 
and chattering with the teeth was the original symptom. 
You can hear it plainly in the word freeze, frost, frigus, 
froid! What a chill runs over one when it is men- 
tioned ! It stands to reason that people should personify 
other things, such as plants and water, and say of them, 
they freeze, they are frozen. Is not man the " measure 
of all things" according to Protagoras, and does not 
man imprint his own being on every other existing 



And yet, how so easy, natural and reasonable this 
all sounds, it is positively wrong. According to the 
revelations of Kant it is not possible that the sensation of 
freezing has become a concept and a word otherwise 
than through the long and round-about way of repre- 
sentations of external objects and thus frozen {^rigus, 
jiiyoq, piyitS) water must have found a lingual or (what 
is the same thing) a rational designation long before; 
and without such designation or an analogous form of 
concept the sensation could never have found expression 
•or association whatever. 

This follows unavoidably from the doctrine of Kant. 
And strange! Comparative philology, without know- 
ing or dreaming of Kant, has fully established this 
origin and natural growth of concepts after its own 
fashion and by its own empirical methods. 

Yet, instead of being converted by this great and 
marvelous coincidence to the belief of the great genius 
that had divined these results with prophetic glance, it 
«till continues to reject the aid of philosophy, even in 
those depths where empiricism cannot penetrate, and 
places its sole dependence upon instruments that the 
hard and rocky soil defies. Far from following the 
path of science it seems to have devoted itself to fumbling 
and groping about in regions of darkness, whence only 
the light of philosophy can be its guide and illuminate 
its path to further empiric investigation. 

Thus it is that comparative philology has yet to learn 
from Kant, if it will ever keep in view the true purpose 
■of its mission, " the history of the human mind." 


Part IV. 

The intimate interaction of body and mind is most 
strikingly illustrated in the moral influence of diet. 
Modern science has revealed the fact that the various 
ingredients of the fuel feeding the fire of a conflagration 
can be tested by the spectrum-lines of the flame, and 
with the same certainty a searching analysis could trace 
every change of diet to its effect in a modification of our 
mental disposition. '■'•Der Mensch ist, wa5- errssT," says 
a German proverb; " Man is what he eats." The 
maxims of dietetic hygiene thus gain a moral significance, 
a fact recognized in the principle of the temperance 
movement, and, indeed, in the ethics of all health-loving 

But the delusions of the dualism which contrasted a 
supernatural spirit-world to the phenomena of the ma- 
terial universe, led to the equally baneful belief in the 
immaterial and self-dependent nature of the human 
soul. The " immortal mind" was long considered a 


mere guest of its earthly tabernacle, the despised body 
which might temporarily limit the freedom of its ten- 
ants, but could not affect them by its decay and might 
eventually be cast off: 

" — As a garment, no more fitting, 
As a house which I am quitting, 
As a cage, from which at last, 
Like a bird my soul has passed." 
That poetic but sadly erroneous theory biased the 
ethics of many of the greatest ancient and medijeval 
moralists, and it is a most suggestive fact that the pre- 
dominance of their dualism is always reflected in the 
degree of their indifference to that chief basis of physi- 
cal welfare: a wholesome diet. Mosaism, with all its 
hierarchic tendencies, is, after all, a manful, earth-loving 
and nature-abiding creed, and the persistent inculcation 
of dietetic health-laws harmonizes with its equally per- 
sistent silence on the metaphysical vagaries of resurrec- 
tion and other-worldly punishments and rewards. The 
ethics of Socrates, on the other hand, seem to have 
anticipated many tenets of the neo-platonic school, and 
at the banquets of Agathon, in the midst of his table- 
talk lectures on the immortality of the soul, he quaffs 
cup after cup of alcoholic beverages as calmly as he 
afterward drained the poison-chalice of the oligarch. 
The Gnostics boasted their disregard of all non-spiritual 
concerns, and among the followers of the world- 
renouncing Messiah that spiritism assumed the form of 
an absolute indifference to the welfare of the earthly 
body. The health code of the Hebrew law-giver was 
revoked; the authorities of the Patristic era gloried in 
an ultra-cynical neglect of dietetic cleanliness, or even 
deliberately tainted their food with bitter and loathsome 
admixtures to mortify the natural cravings of the palate. 
During the middle ages, too, the dietetic purism, which 
an amplification of the Mosaic code had enforced upon 
the disciples of Islam, contrasted strangely with the 
habits of their western neighbors, who scouted the 
interdiction of pork and wine, quoting the w^ords of their 
master, that no man can be defiled by things that enter 
his mouth. 

That mistake avenged itself in the ravages of scrof- 
ula and alcoholism, but even in that age of dietetic 
aberrations, the consequences of quantitative excesses 
were too striking to be entirely ignored. In the popu- 
lar dramas of the middle ages the crapulent monks 
often seem to parody their own foibles, and the fact 
that repletion is apt to induce mental indolence i^'' plenus 
venter non studet libenter''' ) assumed its proverbial form 
in the convent schools of southern Germany. The 
moral influence of habitual surfeits contrasts, indeed, 
most suggestively with the effect of abstemious habits. 
Gluttony torpifies the mental faculties. The " after- 
dinner lassitude" finds its physiological explanation in 
the circumstance that the work of digestion monop- 


olizes the energies of the organism and that transient 
torpor may become a chronic aversion to mental efforts. 
The bonhommie of epicures can be traced to a similar 
cause. Yielding in argument is easier than controversy; 
the indulgence of a generous impulse is more pleasant 
than its suppression, and the liberality associated with the 
after-effect of a full meal may be founded on indolence 
as much as on philanthropic principles, plethoric glut- 
tons being notoriously subject to fits of brutal passion. 
The same gourmand, vv^ho, in the enjoyment of his 
siesta, w^ill grant the request of an insolent petitioner 
to obviate the annoyance of further importunities, may, 
before night, kick his wife and Pialf kill his child for a 
trifling offense. The irascible temper of Squire Pot- 
belly may have a purely physical cause: the irritating 
influence of vitiated humors; but, as usual, such physical 
predispositions are associated with their moral correla- 
tives: Pessimism, world-weariness and the laus tem- 
poris acti, a mania for the depreciation of contemporary 
tendencies. I knew an old farmer whose frequent fits 
of indigestion never failed to explode in raging dia- 
tribes on the wickedness and incapacity of the rising 
generation. Under the influence of a similar distemper, 
the father of Frederick the Great used to lecture his 
household on the decadence of Christian ethics, and 
finish his homily by beating his son black and blue. 
Walter Savage Landor, who could sacrifice a night's 
rest to the elaboration of a sentimental sonnet, was none 
the less prone to paroxysms of after-dinner wrath. 
During his struggles with the gastric consequences of 
an eel pie, his servants would flee as from the presence 
of a madman, and the citizens of Florence preserve a 
tradition that the discovery of a neglected pot-flower 
once impelled him to fling his valet from a third story 
■window. The eupeptic prelates of the middle ages 
were often afflicted with decidedly unchristian tempers, 
and in their controversies were notoriously apt to 
answer arguments with personal insults. 

Habitual gluttons are not often great thinkers, but it 
cannot be denied that, under the stimulus of an urgent 
motive, they have proved themselves capable of heroic 
physical efforts. Thus the sluggish boar, at the ap- 
proach of his foes, will rouse himself from his torpor of 
surfeit and rout hounds and hunters by the desperate 
energy of his onset. Marshal Vendome, the great 
strategist, was also the greatest glutton of his century. 
He would devour his favorite viands with snap-bites, 
like a famished wolf, often correcting a slip of the fork 
by snatching up a tempting morsel with his fingers, and 
thus gorge himself till the expansion of his paunch 
threatened him with suffocation ; yet, on the morrow of 
such surfeits, the arrival of a scout or a glimpse of the 
hostile vanguard would transform him into a warrior of 
the old Roman type. His ablest opponents were 
baffled by the skill and rapidity of his tactics, and after 

a disastrous rout caused by the incapacity of an associ- 
ate commander, the French army was twice saved by 
the superhuman efforts of the old cormorant. His en- 
ergy compelled the surrender of Spanish insurgents 
who had worn out the armies of their own king, as they 
afterwards exhausted the resources of the French Em- 
pire; but after an ovation resembling the triumph of a 
Roman conqueror, the otherwise invincible veteran pro- 
ceeded to indemnify himself for the privations of his 
campaign by engaging a staff of pastry-cooks and 
retiring to a Spanish country-seat, where he managed 
to gorge out his life in a single week. Milo of Cro- 
tona, the Sicilian Samson, w^as as much admired for the 
vigor of his digestive organs as for the fervor of his 
patriotism and the matchless prowess of his fists. In 
the war against Sybaris he marched at the head of his 
fellow-citizens, flaunting a lion-skin and a huge club; 
and once saved a synod of Pythagorean philosophers by 
using his arms to prop the pillars of a falling temple. 
He was an orator and a peerless athlete, but every now 
and then proved the versatility of his talents by an eat- 
ing-match, and after defeating the best boxers of an 
international field day and carrying a young bull around 
the entire circuit of the arena, he crowned his exploits 
by roasting that bull and devouring the beef at a single 
meal — let us hope with the assistance of his bottle- 
holders. Our Saxon ancestors, too, were inclined to 
make gastric capacity a test of constitutional vigor. A 
feeble stomach was apt to qualify the prestige of a pop- 
ular hero, and on his visit to Joetunheim, Thor himself 
defies the giant-king to produce his champion eaters 
and drinkers. King Attila, however, punished voracity 
as a breach of discipline, and Peter Bayle perhaps 
justly expresses his surprise that so many of the nations 
who enacted severe sumptuary laws against drunken- 
ness should have considered gluttony a venial sin. 

Gluttony tends to cynicism. Coarseness and ex- 
travagance of speech and manners go hand in hand with 
dietetic excesses, as for cognate reasons, the repulsive- 
ness of voracious animals is generally aggravated by 
a want of cleanliness. Among the natives of the Arctic 
regions, where climatic causes make gluttony a pan- 
demic vice, personal cleanliness is an almost unknown 
virtue, and Kane's anecdotes of polar household-habits 
depict a degree of squalor that would appal a gorilla. 
" Our poverty, but not our ■will consents," is a plea that 
could hardly be urged in behalf of the amateur-cynics 
developed in the mediaval strongholds of gormandage,, 
and the ne plus ultra of reckless obscenity is not to be 
found in the satires of Petronius Arbiter, but in the dis- 
sertations of the Spanish monk-moralist Sanchez. 

Habitual abstemiousness, on the other hand, is the 
concomitant of modesty, thrift, self-control and even- 
ness of temper, and is compatible with heroic persever- 
ance, though hardly with great energy of vital vigor. 


The dietetic self-denials of Luigi Cornaro, a Venetian 
nobleman of the sixteenth century, enabled him to out- 
live the third generation of his epicurean relatives. 
During the latter decades of his long life he boasts of 
having enjoyed a peace of mind unattainable by other 
means, and one of his biographers admits that the im- 
pulse of wrath seemed to have become extinct in his 
soul, but remarks that the friends of the noble ascetic 
complained of a certain reserve and pedantry, quite 
foreign to his character during the period preceding his 
change of habits. He also became a poetaster, and only 
the urgent protests of an influential relative pre- 
vented him from publishing the inspirations of his 
mystic muse. St. Francis, during his latter years of 
penance, evinced a similar penchant, and the prema- 
ture publication of his odes might have imperiled his 
chances of canonization in that age of classic revivals. 
A love of romance and mystery, with a distinct leaning 
towards the more extravagant forms of miraculism, is, 
indeed, an international characteristic of the abstemious 
East. Persia and the eastern provinces of the Caliphs, 
could boast of many poets, but only of few prominent 
philosophers, or inventors ; natural science is an exotic 
plant in the soil of China and Japan, and the prodigious 
literature of ancient India is almost limited to spiritual 
extravagances. That poetical penchant is sometimes 
strangely associated with a pedantic conservatism of 
manners and opinion. All Asia is rite-ridden; the mys- 
tic-romantic Spaniard wearies a practical stranger with 
an ultra-prosaic observance of meaningless formalities. 
Intellectual asthenia, however, is the common root of 
mysticism and ceremonialism. 

Habitual abstinence, carried to ascetic extremes, is 
apt to result in spiritualistic aberrations. " Fast in the 
wilderness and you will see ghosts," says an Indian 
proverb, confirmed by the visions of millions of mediaeval 
fanatics, who tried to exalt their souls by starving their 
bodies, and got their reward in the phantasmagoria of 
inanition. Under the influence of protracted starvation, 
the organism preys on its own tissues, and the degenera- 
tion of cerebral substance may partly account for the 
literary exploits of ecstatic nuns and apocalyptic her- 

Within the bounds of reason, occasional fasts, how- 
ever, are by no means incompatible with intellectual 
vigor, though they are chiefly apt to stimulate the activity 
of abstruse speculations. There are intellectual volup- 
tuaries whose enjoyment of mental triumphs in contro- 
versy or cogitation seem, for the time being, actually to 
deaden their craving for material food. Isaac Newton, 
on the track of a cosmic secret, would send back plate 
after plate of untasted meals. Percy Shelley, in the 
words of his sprightly biographer, " indignantly refused 
to alloy the nectar of poetic inspiration with boarding- 
house soup," and in his creative moods rarely answered 

a dinner-call without a sigh of regret. Benedict Spin- 
oza, amidst the parchment piles of his bachelor-den, 
would fast for days in the ecstasy of his ^'■Gott trunk- 
enen " — " God intoxicated " — meditations. Intermittent 
denutrition undoubtedly tends to clear off the cobwebs 
of the brain. The ancient custom af postponing the 
principal meal to the end of the day was perhaps pro- 
pitious to mental lucidity; and Goethe, whose abhorrence 
of mediaeval dissertations was modified by his partiality 
for the writings of Spinoza, testifies that the Ethics of 
the great pantheist, like the masterpieces of classic 
literature, cheered him " with a feeling akin to the 
pleasant impression experienced on entering a well 
lighted room." 

Rare and enforced fasts, however, are apt to exercise 
an unfavorable influence on the temper of the patient. 
The captives of our menagerie cages submit in sullen 
silence to untold vexations, but a brief postponement of 
the dinner hour turns the whole circus into a pande- 
monium of grunts and shrieks. The querulous mood 
of an orthodox Mussulman during the observance of the 
yearly Rhamadan fast is equaled only by his exuber- 
ance of good humor at the conclusion of the penance. 
Sailors, who endure without a murmur the extremes of 
atmospheric hardships, are apt to rebel against the first 
attempt at dietary restrictions, and the report of a recent 
committee of investigation admits that the shortcomings 
of unprofessional cooks are among the most fruitful 
causes of desertions from the military service of the 
United States. Napoleon the Great personally super- 
vised every detail of his commissary system, and the 
war-correspondent of the London Times justly predicted 
that the dietetic bereavements of the Crimean troops 
would cost the Government service a loss of popularity 
too great to be retrieved by a dozen victories. 

For those very reasons, perhaps, the founders of 
ancient religions prescribed fasts as a crucial test of sub- 
ordination, a test which our latter-day prophets hesitate 
to apply, and which indeed, in the popular form of its 
observance, has almost lost its afflictive significance. 
Father de Smet tells an anecdote of a converted tribe 
of Dakota redskins who patiently masticated their dry 
bull-beef for six days in the week, but devoted their 
Fridays to a festive re-union, culminating in an uproari- 
ous barbecue of maple-rum and broiled mountain-trout. 
The bonajide fasts of Islam, on the other hand, have 
seriously impeded the progress of its propaganda among 
the eupeptic tribes of the north. 

Actual starvation exasperates, but eventually un- 
mans, the sufferer. The pangs of hunger may excite a 
transient disposition to violent deeds of self-help, but in 
the course of time lead to more lasting results; and it is 
a most instructive, though melancholy, fact that under 
the purely physical influence of protracted famine, 
nearly all the distinctively human attributes have been 


crushed out of many once noble nations: The sense 
of honor, patriotism, the instinct of beauty, and 
finally even the instinct of industry and the love ot 

Pugnacity, the love of mirth and the instinct of 
friendship, however, stand their ground to the last, and 
like the social instinct, seem to have acquired their deep- 
rooted hold during the ages preceding the advance from 
the anthropoid stage of human development. 

( To he continued. ) 


While during the last century all the natural sciences 
have made many wonderful discoveries, philology has 
not remained behind in contributing its share to the 
general work of progress. Through the efforts of the 
Grimm brothers the study of the languages became a 
comparative philology, which stated the laws of the 
growth of speech. Comparative philology found the 
key to a correct understanding of the Aryan languages 
in the study of Sanskrit,* and new light poured in, by 
which the solution of many an obscure problem could 
be hoped for. 

The study of language became a philosophy of 
language, and this philosophy corroborated the truth of 
Monism, which was recognized more and more in all 
the different sciences as the only consistent conception 
of the world. 

One of the most prominent scholars in this domain 
is Max Muller. He was one of the first philologists to 
scientifically investigate Sanskrit. His discoveries in 
comparative philology are generally recognized, and his 
merits in the philosophy of language will never be for- 
gotten. By digging down to the philosophy of lan- 
guage he discovered the foundation of human nature 
and its characteristics, for he proved that the origin of 
language and the origin of reason are one and the same 

Max Miiller's theory of the identity of language and 
thought found much opposition, partly because his 
definition of thought was not accepted, partly because 
the problem which was at issue was not understood. 
The problem was correctly stated by Noire as " The 
Origin of Reason." Reason was generally supposed to 
be a creative power, a divine mysterious something 
which produced thought, language, science and art. 
The mystery of reason, however, can easily be ex- 
plained, for the origin of reason is a very simple me- 
chanical process; it is identical with that of language. 
The expression of man's feelings in words constitutes 
his thought. Without words no thoughts. Sounds are 
the best adapted mechanical means for the formation of 

* In consideration of the importance of Sanskrit, whichi has been so helpful 
to establish the monistic view in the domain of philolog:y, we shall publish in 
future issues of The Open Court a scries of essays by Oldenberg, the well- 
known Sanskrit scholar, author of "The Life of Buddha," etc. 

language, and thus the formation of speech is the mech- 
anism which produces reason. 

The problem was not to find the similarity of animal 
language and human language, of animal thought and 
human thought, of animal reason and human reason, 
but their difference. To find similarities is the first 
duty of the philosopher and investigator. The second 
duty of the scholar and scientist is to discriminate, and 
to discriminate is, in most cases, much more difficult 
than to find similarities. If we see differences we can 
appreciate similarities better and will be guarded against 
taking them as identities. 

The merit of this discrimination is Max Miiller's 
work, and all his books contain explanations and corol- 
laries of his leading idea, that man thinks because he 

Noire has published a book (ISIax Muller and the 
Philosophy of Language. London: Longmans, Green 
& Co.) of which he says in an introductory note: 

" In my book on ' The Origin of Language,' before 
proposing my own solution of the great problem, I en- 
deavor to trace its historical development from the ear- 
liest times down to those latest achievements of scientific 
research upon which my own theory is founded, and 
without which, indeed, its conception would have been 

" In this summary, as I have since become aware, I 
was far from doing justice to the great merits of Max 
Muller and the researches by which he has cleared the 
way for future investigators. And it was to rectify this 
error that I hastened to publish in a German review, 
Nord und Slid, an article in which, to the best of my 
judgment and belief, the suum cuique was more equally 

" The serious importance and wide bearings of the 
subject have induced me to make this article, in an en- 
larged form, accessible to the English reader." 

In this work Noire shows in the first two chapters 
Max Miiller's attitude in relation to the theory of devel- 
opment and to Darwinism in particular. Max Muller, 
who has, even in advance of Darwin, taught the doc- 
trine of evolution, severs himself from the followers of 
Darwin and begins a critical attack, when, overlooking 
or dismissing off-hand man's real characteristic, reason 
and speech, they treat external causes and structural 
transitions as a sufficient scientific explanation of the 
greatest marvel of creation. 

We excerpt from Noir^'s book the most important 
passages. He says: "Reason, or the mental life of 
man, constitutes a new, specific distinction, without an 
exact parallel in any other part of nature, a differentia- 
tion which we must seek to derive from more general 
natural causes. * * * 

" The inner organic tissue, the means whereby the 
functions of reason are accomplished, is afforded by 



those mysterious entities which are called concepts, con- 
ceptions^ notions, or, in Platonic phrase, ideas. They 
are the exclusive property of man. * * * 

" Concepts cannot be formed without the help of 
words. The sound, the word, is the body of the con- 
cept. Both are designated in Greek by the single word 
?.(i70f , which means ' word and reason.' * * The two 
ratio and oratio are one and the same, only conceived 
\cota different points of view; the one is the inner and 
spiritual, the other the outer and corporeal side. * * 

"As formerly, Spinoza's great disciple, Goethe, 
formulated the fundamental monistic doctrine in the 
simple words, as indubitable as unambiguous: 'No 
mind without matter, no matter without mind,' so Max 
Miiller with equal clearness and confidence: 'Without 
speech no reason, without reason no speech.' * * * ^ 

"The debates as to whether thought and reason 
shall be ascribed to animals, to babies and to untaught 
deaf-mutes are merely verbal disputes and proceed 
from the fact that the words used have not had associ- 
ated with them the clear and definite matter of concep- 
tion which belongs to them, but are employed in a 
general, vague and misty fashion. 

" A child knows as certainly before it can speak, the 
difference between sweet and bitter [i. e., that sweet is 
not bitter], as it knows afterwards (when it comes to 
speak) that wormwood and sugar-plums are not the 
same thing. A child receives the sensation of sweet- 
ness; he enjoys it, he recollects it, he desires it again, 
but he does not know what sweet is; he is absorbed in 
its sensations, its pleasures, its recollections ; he cannot 
look at them from above, he cannot reason on them, he 
cannot tell of them." 

" Similarly, Lazarus Geiger says : 'It is easy to see 
that blood is red and milk is white ; but to abstract the 
redness of blood from the collective impression, to find 
the same notion again in a red berry, and, in spite of its 
other differences, to include under the same head the 
red berry and the red blood — or the white milk and the 
white snow — this is something altogether different. No 
animal does this,yor this, and this only, is thinking^ 

T^& 5ife i^t 9i& ^ 9F * 

" The power of abstraction, or having general ideas. 
Max Miiller declares, is realized by means of language 
and language only, which is the exclusive property of 
mankind, in virtue of its humanity. That which is lan- 
guage seen from without is reason seen from within. 
It is the obvious mark of distinction between man and 
beast. The origin of human development can there- 
fore only be elucidated by the discovery of the origin of 
language. And if we ask what new contributions have 
been brought to light from the material hitherto exam- 
ined by comparative philology, in aid of this enquiry, 
' The result,' says our author, ' if we look back on our 
former lecture, is this : After we had explained every- 

thing in the growth of language that can be explained, 
there remained in the end, as the only inexplicable 
residuum, what we called roots. * * * What, then, 
are these roots? In our modern languages roots can 
only be discovered by scientific analysis, and, even as far 
back as Sanskrit, we may say that no root was ever used 
as a noun or as a verb. But originally roots were thus 
used, and in Chinese we have fortunately preserved to 
us a representative of that primitive radical stage which, 
like the granite, underlies all other strata of human 
speech. Roots, therefore, are not, as is commonly 
maintained, merely scientific abstractions, but they were 
used originally as real words.' 

"What we want to find out is this : What inward 
mental phase is it that corresponds to these roots as the 
germ of human speech?" 

Noir^ calls the roots the linguistic germ cells, or 
Ova. Omne vivum ex ovo, all grovs^th of language 
springs from these roots. " By their development and 
uninterrupted growth all the known languages of the 
world have reached their marvelous stature and become 
the body of reason and instrument of mind. By the 
help of these roots and their intellectual equivalent man 
has taken spiritual possession of the whole creation, as 
he, at the same moment, cast it in their mould and 
stamped it with their impress." * * * 

Max Miiller rejects the theory of onomatopoeia as 
well as the interjectional theory. He ironically calls 
one the Bow-wow, the other the Pooh-pooh theory. 
He says in his " Ursprung der Sprache": " In the nature 
of the mind, as well as that of the body, there is no 
saltus ; the one is developed out of as minute elements 
as the other." * * * The inferences which Max 
Miiller deduced from this important elementary truth 
are, in their main features, as follows : 

"I. The sounds of language are at all times and 
everywhere significant. It is in virtue of this quality 
alone that they form a part of speech. The interjec- 
tional and imitative theories are herewith condemned. 

" 3, Nothing in language is dead that has not once 
been alive. This explains and sets aside the apparent 
exceptions presented by inflection-terminations, infixes, 
affixes and the whole formal apparatus of language. The 
word fruchtbar could not be formed unless the second 
syllable had a meaning, and though that meaning is lost 
to the feeling of contemporary speech, science shows us 
that it originally meant fruit-bearing. 

" 3. Language passed from the simplest beginnings — 
monosyllabic, primary roots — first to secondary and 
tertiary roots and then, through the luxuriant abundance 
of forms belonging to the polysynthetic or agglutinative 
stage, to the clearness and precision, to the wonderful 
richness of thought and expression belonging to modern 
and inflected languages. The cradle of speech is the 
goal of the science of language. 


" 4. The mental counterpart of roots are certain fixed 
rational elements, nearly all of the nature of predicates, 
though a few, the pronominal class, are demonstrative. 
And as the roots, considered as sounds, are phonetic 
types, so their rational counterparts in the mind are 
rational types; those are phonetical types, these concep- 
tual types or rational concepts. These, we repeat, are 
the fixed forms or norms with which language, that is 
to say, rational thought, has stamped as its own the 
whole of creation. 

"5. The original mental content of the roots, their 
earliest meanings, so far as comparative philology can 
trace them, prove to have been only sensible perceptions 
or impressions." 

Noir^ fully concurs with Max Miiller, but he adds: 
« While all preceding writers on the philosophy of 
language. Max Miiller and Geiger included, have fol- 
lowed the universal tradition in deriving language and 
thought from the passive element of perception, I 
have entered upon the opposite course and affirm : 

" Language is the child of will, of an active, not of a 
passive, state ; the roots of words contain the proper activ- 
ity of 7nen and receives their significance from the effects 
of this activity in so far as it is phenomenal, i. e., visible. 
Human thought arises from a double root, the subject- 
ive activity, or the will, and the objective phenomenon 
which is accessible to the senses." 

Max Miiller has since expressed his full assent to 

Noir^'s view. _ 



Monsieur Ch. Richet does not doubt that our " nerv- 
ous psychic system " has the power of indefinitely 
preserving the memory of the shocks which it receives, 
and he.writes: 

"We can found great hopes upon the future of 
human intelligence. It seems that the concentrative 
power of the mind increases in proportion to the 
amount of knowledge. The activity of a muscle is in- 
creased by exercise, and the power thus accumulated is 
transmitted from generation to generation. In the same 
manner, undoubtedly, the power of memory is strength- 
ened by exercise, and this increase may be transmitted 
by heredity." 

This assurance is quite necessary, for the chamber 
already filled by our brains seems too small to be able 
to contain our new riches. One special study suffices, at 
this day, to occupy the entire life of man. He who 
prides himself on being a philosopher, cannot at the 
same time be a specialist. The generalities which he 
must know require the assistance of such a number of 
facts, and the study of psychology, particularly, involves 
the necessity for such an unlimited number of data, that 

Translated from the French in "Journal d' au Philosophe, 

even for the most vigorous intellect a powerful memory 
has become indispensable to good work. 

The Greek Dioscorides, who lived four hundred 
years after Theophrastus, mentions in his works only 
six hundred plants, and Laurent de Jussieu has de- 
fined a hundred families. It would seem then that the 
brain of a De Jussieu must have contained a greater 
number of images or representations than did that of a 
Dioscorides, and the brain of a Cuvier more than even 
that of Aristotle. 

It is true that the scientists, and, above all, the classi- 
fiers of the present day, work a great deal with the pen; 
that they possess the " paper-memory " of which Mon- 
taigne speaks; that they employ general formulae and 
abbreviate them, and this fact already would forbid 
our deciding whether the mental capacity of the 
moderns is really superior to that of the ancients. We 
would have to measure the crania and weigh the brains 
before we could decide this question. 

Nevertheless, the moderns, if they lack quantity in 
representation, of ttimes possess the advantage of quality. 
The most leartied doctors of ancient Sorbonne had their 
heads crowded with facts of no real value whatever, 
and the metaphor could be applied to them that " the 
most precious jewels are found in the smallest caskets." 
Our earliest notions in the brain are like centers of pro- 
duction, and the false ideas as well as the chimeras of 
rational frivolity generate a pathological condition which 
invades and finally destroys the organ of thought, while 
genuine information and true ideas infinitely strengthen it. 

I have not sufficiently studied the gift of genius to 
speak of it with perfect knowledge. I shall neverthe- 
less be obliged to explain its final ruin by the diseased 
growth of certain germs, whose monstrous vegetation 
chokes in its most beautiful hoar of bloom the philoso- 
phy, the poetry, and the art of genius. 

But the quantity of facts which are in the brain only 
aid genius; they do not constitute it. That which dis- 
tinguishes genius is a rare activity and a marvelous 
power of discovering relations between facts hitherto 
unperceived and the knowledge of which is most fertile 
in new thoughts and sentiments in the domain of science 
or in that of art. The increase of a knowledge of facts 
does not, then, necessarily indicate a growth of scien- 
tific genius, and the diminution of egoism does not nec- 
essarily entail an increase of morality. 

If we abandon egoism by attaching our interest to 
something else than ourselves, the number of the ex- 
ternal objects is of scarcely any importance, and the 
extension of our sympathies to larger groups does not 
give us the exact measure of our moral progress. A 
fine German thinker, who is of French descent on his 
father's side, Mr. Julius Duboc, has made this remark. 
I would only like to complete his thought by distin- 
guishing between our ability and its effects. 


In the domain of art, the man of Vezere who en- 
graved and so finely retouched the profile of the head 
of a mammoth on an ivory plaque, which is now in 
the museum, was a pre-historic Phidias, for in art the 
social conditions are most influential. 

In the intellectual domain, the progress is evident, 
judging by the results and the accumulation of discov- 
eries; but we cannot so plainly see that Newton was 
superior to Archimedes, and a savage Archimedes 
would limit the use of his genius to discovering the 
manner of cutting stone or of shaping flint. 

Neither does our power seem to have increased ma- 
terially in the domain of morals: I mean the power to 
accomplish a sacrifice commanded by duty; but the 
sacrifice has in a great many cases become easier, per- 
haps more habitual, and it seems that the sail of our 
will spreads itself of its own accord to the good wind. 

If, now, the Greeks have originated abstract science, 
which the Chinese, for instance, could not do, it is be- 
cause they were endowed with greater genius, and an 
opinion based upon the appearance of the races forces us 
to admit at least some degrees of difference in their in- 
tellectual power. We must admit it in their artistic 
faculty and in their moral faculty, and then we could 
say that the power increases in man, but infinitely less 
quickly than the effects of this power multiply. 

The doctrine of indefinite progress in our species, 
-which appeared to be included in Monsieur Richet's 
thesi?, could not be accepted without a correction as 
regards the perfectibility of individuals. The growth 
of the " retentive " faculty, it is asserted by this eminent 
scientist, does not mean the same as the growth of the 
rational faculty, and we may accordingly hold to the 
conviction that genius will continue to exist in humanity 
■without necessarily insisting upon its eventual expansion. 


Two views have ever stood opposed to each other in 
the realm of religious and philosophical questions, the 
one claiming absolute determinism as a matter of course 
for all phenomena of nature and life, human actions not 
•excluded; the other maintaining that whatever be the 
claim of determinism in the province of physical science 
man's actions are not determined, for man is endowed 
with freewill. The former opinion is generally consid- 
ered as the scientific view; the latter as the moral or 
religious aspect. 

It is apparent that the very existence of morals and 
religion depend upon man's having a free will, and at 
the same time determinism full and unrestricted without 
any exceptions is the condition, the sine qua non of 
science. Prof. James, in his reply to Prof. Gizycki's 
essay, reveals to us the basis upon which all dualism 
and with it indeterminism stands; it is \h.& ought in our 
breasts, it is our moral consciousness which we gladly 

confess, it is an undeniable fact. And this ought, or as 
the great sage of Konigsberg calls it, the categoric im- 
perative in us, postulates that man is a moral being and 
that he has a free will ; and this free will, men of a dual- 
istic bias think, is irreconcilable to the idea of the One 
and All, to the doctrine of monism. 

Dualism, which takes the view that two worlds exist 
independent of each other, the spiritual world and the 
material world, does not object to determinism in the 
material world, but it vigorously maintains that free will 
obtains in the spiritual world. 

Materialism in opposition to dualism claims that free- 
dom of will is a sham, that man has no free will, be- 
cause his actions are determined throughout by law. 

If dualism is right, scientific truth has very little 
value, for science exists only because natural phenomena 
are, by strictest necessity, determined with regularity, and 
do not happen according to hazard or chance. If ma- 
terialism is right in saying that man's freedom of will 
is a self-delusion, it would be ridiculous to speak of 
morals, and ethics (the science of morals) would be a 

Prof. James takes the dualistic view. He says: 

"We postulate indeterminism in the interests of the 
reality of our moral life just as we postulate determin- 
ism in the interests of that of our scientific life." 

We are certainly in favor of reconciling " moral 
life" and " scientific life." We even believe that they 
were never at variance; they coincide in part. (This, 
by the bye, is the reason why we speak of the Concilia- 
tion of Science with Religion and not of a jffecon- 
ciliation.) But Prof. James' conciliation is a mutual 
annihilation. Science and Ethics play the part of the 
famous Kilkenny cats. The moral view and scientific 
view are two different aspects, howsoever their object 
may be one and the same thing. A psychologist, a 
physician, or a lawyer may view the actions of a man 
from a scientific standpoint, and a clergyman or a histo- 
rian, or a biographer, or the critic of an author may 
contemplate the very same actions from a moral stand- 
point. Should we then, in the former case, take to 
determinism, and in the latter to indeterminism, or shall 
we by excluding human actions from the province of 
determinism, entirely annihilate ethics as a science? 
And if no science of morals exists, how can we have 
chairs for "professional moralists" at our universities? 

Monism accepts determinism wholly and fully. But 
from the same standpoint of monism, free will must 
also be accepted as the basis of moral life. We deny 
that the issue is determinism or free will; in opposition 
to spiritual and material dualism, we claim determinisrh 
and free will. We maintain that moral truth and scien- 
tific truth, that religion and science, regularity according 
to law, and free will are no irreconcilable contradictions- 
They are oppositions complementary to and explanatory 



of each other. If one is conceived without taking the 
other into consideration, our view will be one-sided and 
squinting. Both together form the monistic view, in 
which science and religion find their reconciliation. 

Those who maintain that free will and determinisrii 
are irreconcilable contradictions start from the apparently 
slight but important error that force and necessity are 
identical. They think that what happens from neces- 
sity suffers from force somehow. They overlook the 
fact that there is a necessity from force which is effected 
as if by a mechanical pressure from the outside, and an 
inner necessity from free will which works with sponta- 
neity according to the character of a man by free decision, 
but at the same time of necessity. For instance, a man 
delivers to a highwayman his valuables because he is 
forced to do so by threats or even blows; he suffers vio- 
lence ; his action is not free. But if a man, seeing one of 
his wretched fellow-beings suffering from hunger and cold 
through extreme poverty, and overpowered by compas- 
sion gives away all he has about him, this man does not 
suffer force. He acts from free will, but being such as 
he is, he so acts of necessity according to his character. 

In my pamphlet, Alonisni and Meliorism^ the prob- 
lem of free will is treated in section v, § 1—3. In § i, the 
hedonists or utilitarians are contrasted with men of relig- 
ious bent, and in § 2, their differences are stated and 
discussed : 

" Religionists usually adhere to the dogma of free 
will, while the hedonists do not accept this doctrine, but 
proclaim it to be in contradiction to the unyielding law 
of causality. It is the third of Kant's antinomies. The 
religionists take the positive side of the thesis, and the 
hedonists the negative of the antithesis. If there were 
no freedom of will, ethics would not exist, for it is free- 
dom that implies the responsibilities for one's actions. 

" Now, according to the law of causality, the actions 
of man result through the same necessity as any event 
or phenomenon. It is a strange confusion to make of 
necessity and freedom a contradictory opposition, so that 
either would exclude the other. If a man can do as he 
pleases, we call him free; but if he is prohibited from 
following motives which stir him, if by some restraint or 
force he is limited, he is not free. But every man, if he 
be free or restrained under a certain condition, under ex- 
actly these and no other circumstances must, of necessity, 
will just as he does will, and not otherwise. As to this 
there is no doubt, if causality is truly the universal law 
of the world. 

" The confusion fi'om which so many errors arise, is 
due to the similarity of the concepts /orce and necessity. 
Force may lay a restraint on free will. Where force 
rules, free will is annihilated. Necessity, however, is no 
force. Whoever is unable to make this distinction, will 
never get a clear insight into the theory of free will. 
Necessity, in such a case, is the inevitable sequence by 

which a certain result follows according to a certain' 
law. It is the internal harmony and logical order of the- 
world. Force, however, is an external restraitit, and a 
foreign pressure exercised to check and hinder by vio- 
lence. Give the loadstone freedom on a pivot, and it 
will, of necessity, turn toward the north, according to the- 
qualities or properties of magnetism. But if you direct 
it by a pressure of the finger to some other point, you 
will exercise some force, which does not allow it to show 
its real nature and quality. Were the loadstone en- 
dowed with sentiment and gifted with the power of 
speech, it would say in the first case: ' I am free, and of 
my free will I point toward the north.' In the second! 
case, however, it would feel that it is acted upon and 
forced into some other direction against its nature, and 
would declare its freedom to be curtailed. 

"It is the same with man; and the moral worth of a 
man depends entirely upon what motives direct his will. 
An ethical estimate of moral actions is not possible, ex- 
cept under the condition that they are the expression 
and realization of free will. The best action would' 
amount to nothing if it were a mere chance result which 
might have occurred otherwise. The whole value of 
any moral deed rests on the fact that the man could not^ 
under the conditions, act otherwise than thus, that it was 
an act oi free will, and, at the same time, of inevitable- 

The actions of free will are just as much regulated 
by law as any other natural phenomena. The moral 
ought certainly involves can. Two men under the very 
same conditions can act differently; but a man of a. 
certain character and under certain conditions, if he is- 
free, will necessarily act in accordance with his charac- 
ter and not otherwise. The actions of a man who is- 
not free, whether they are good or bad, have no moral 
value. Freedom is the sine qua nan of morality and 
moral responsibility. But an action which does not re- 
sult of necessity, which happens by chance, like a play 
at dice and might have been otherwise, has no moral 
value either. 

And if the free actions of man were not regulated 
by law, if free will meant that a man of certain charac- 
ter under certain conditions could act otherwise than he- 
does, if free will were identical with chance, if, in a 
word, free will were indeterminism, this kind of free- 
will would not only destroy science but morals and 
ethics also. 

Free will and determinism do not exclude each other.. 
Free will is a postulate of morals, determinism is a pos- 
tulate of science. The actions of a free will are not 
irregular or without law; they are determined by the 
character of the acting man. 

Indeterminism is unthinkable in science as well as int 
morals; it would make every action a morally indifferent 
and scientifically indeterminable phenomenon. p. c. 




My baby boy, were life's annoy 

By wishing warned away, 
Good-luck would shower bright snow-flower, 

On this your first of May. 

No leaf at all would ever fall 

To mark the passing year; 
But Time would bring with every spring 

New bloom of hope and cheer. 

The lips that tell your name so well 

Without a word — my rose — 
Would kiss the dew while life is new 

From every bud that blows; 

But violet eyes, where now surprise. 

Turns ever to a smile, 
Would hold the star that guides afar 

Though wayward Love beguile; 

Until the Sprite, one summer night, 

With moon upon the vale, 
And soft winds south, should turn your mouth 

From rose to nightingale. 

If what I would were what I could 

Within those little ears. 
The laugh would meet a world's heart-beat, 

And sound of falling tears; 

That breast would swell with truth to tell, 

And song I failed to sing, 
Till every word should, like a bird, 

Burst forth on fearless wing; 

And armed with might to guard the right, 
Though strong to wield the sword, 

Those little hands would bring the lands 
To peace and one accord. 

But, baby mine, come rain or shine. 

Despite the stars above, 
Each year will bring the flower of spring, 

And no year take my love. 



To the Editor : Cambridge, Mass. 

I have read with interest the essay in 3'our columns with 
which Professor von Gizjcki has done me the honor to couple 
my name, and to which you invite me to reply. You surely 
wouldn't tempt me to plunge into the length and breadth of 
the free-will controversy, or to fight with my learned Berlin friend 
over points of detail. So, though I have to accuse him of hardly 
addressing himself to my main line of argument at all, I will just 
make one brief remark on his conclusion. [Let me say, by the 

way, that my original article (the source of all this trouble) was 
called "The Dilemma of Determinism," and was published in 
the Boston Unitarian Reviezv for September, 1884.] 

Professor von Gizycki believes in determinism absolute and 
universal. Such determinism is, of course, monism. Every par- 
ticular thing being pure effect, determined ab extra, there is no 
substantial reality except in the consolidated total, the One and All. 
Now any One and All which determines some of its features 
to be bad, is a morally irrational being. Those features ought to 
be removed yet cannot be removed so long as that One and All 
exists. Ought rationally involves cayi; and a frame of things 
which keeps the two asunder is a discord. It was to escape this 
moral discord in the absolute and total nature of things that I 
turned my back upon the One and All and postulated pluralism 
and indeterminism instead. Professor von Gizycki says we 
needn't turn our backs, but can escape the moral discord in the 
simplest possible fashion, thus : deny all moral character what- 
soever to the One and All, and, of course, it can't be morally irra- 
tional any more than it can be morally rational. " Not being 
responsible," it is not a term of moral relations or ah object of 
moral judgments at all. The latter are but elements of human 
psychology, anthropomorphisms having no connection with the 
world at large. 

This attempt at exorcising moral irrationalism is pouring out 
the child with the bath with a vengeance. It is as if a judge 
should decide a lawsuit by ordering the goods in dispute to be 
burned. To save the monistic system, we are asked to give up 
the very notion of there being any truth in our moral sentiments 
at all. One could understand this from a commonplace material- 
ist, but for a professional moralist like Professor von Gizycki, it 
is a queer attitude to take contentedly. Rather than put up with 
such a despairing solution, one would expect a man with any 
sense for the reality of morals to keep the ball of uneasy specula- 
tion rolling, to live on the ragged edge, to gnaw the file forever. 

It is certain that mankind at large will never take as a satis- 
factory terminus for thought the notion of a One and AlV 
which is the deepest reality, but which is either immoral, or if 
moral, morally absurd. 

None of those evils of indeterministic pluralism which Pro- 
fessor von Gizycki depicts are quite as bad as that. We claim' 
indeterminism, we claim that good things -vtere possible where bad 
things now are, in the interests of moral activity, just as we claim 
determinism in the interests of scientific activit\-. The result 
must probably be a concession on the part of the universal 
claimer of some of its cl.iims. Indeterminism is no universal 
claimer. It only asks to exist some-vhere in the world; and 
this claim is incompatible with the existence of an absolute One 
ar.d All. — I see, by the bye, that you, Mr. Editor, propose " THE 
iVLL" as an object of worship, and even of "imitation." If noth- 
ing will satisfy 3'ou but that amazing object, a noun of multitude, 
don't you think that "THE HALF" will work rather better 
than "THE ALL".' Indeterminism is practically contented 
with the half, or even much less. William James. 

[Professor James calls the " One and All so far as it deter- 
mines some of its features to be bad, a morally irrational being." 
And in another passage he says: " It is certain that mankind at 
large will never take as a satisfactory terminus for thought the 
notion of a One and All, which is the deepest reality, but which 
is either immoral, or, if moral, morally absurd." 

Ethics does not deal with the morality of the One and All, 
nor with the morality of a God beyond the limits of the universe. 
The "One and All " being as it is the sum total of reality or 
existence, cannot properly be called moral or immoral ; to say that 
it is morally indifferent would be still more incorrect. We might 
just as well in hygiene speak of the health of the One and All as in 


ethics of its morality. And it would be wrong at the same time 
to declare that nature and the laws of nature are hygienically in- 
different and have nothing to do with the rules of health. Ethics 
is a moral hygiene; it investigates and gauges all the actions of 
rational individuals, such as men are on earth. If such beings 
act in harmony with the All, and the laws of the All, we call 
them moral ; if they act contrary to the All and its laws,_we say 
that they are immoral. 

Prof. James seems to overlook that monism teaches the 
immanence of force in matter, of God in the All, and of causality 
in phenomena. He says : Not every " pure effect " must be 
"determined ab extra." Eifects determined ab extra may be 
properly called mechanical effects. The action of a free will is 
irrevocably determined, but it is determined ab intra, not ab extra. 
The necessity ab intra is called moral freedom, the necessity ab 
extra is force. The monistic God is vis ab intra, he is immanent; 
the supernatural God is vis ab extra, he is transcendent.] , Only 
the immanent God of monism can afford a satisfactory concep- 
tion of moral responsibility, as Goethe says (according to Dr. 
X,indorme's translation in Open Court, p. S55): 
The God whose being in mine showers. 

Can rouse my soul to active will; 
The God whose throne's be3'ond my powers. 
For purpose, will and deed is nil. 

In reference to the conclusion of Prof James' letter, I declare 
that, if worship is taken in the usual sense as an act of adoration, 
■or a submissive cult of self-humiliation, I do not propose to wor- 
ship the One and All. However, if worship is to signify what it 
■does according to its etymology (Anglo-Saxon -weordhscipe), con- 
sidering and bearing in mind the worth of something or of some- 
tody, I do propose to tiwthskif the One and All. We should 
iully appreciate its import for our lives, and for those who shall 
live after us. Such a worship is one " in spirit and in truth." '; It 
will keep us in harmony with humanity as well as with this One 
and All itself. About " the half" with which Professor James is 
contented, we shall speak on another occasion when we discuss 
the idea of God. 

The editor's view of determinism and free will is found on 
page S87 of The Open Court. Editor.] 


Outlooks on Society, Literature and Politics. Ed-^vin 

Percy Whipple. Boston : Ticknor & Co. 

This volume of essays from the pen of one of the most accom- 
plished and brilliant writers of English in his da}', is made up of 
fugitive pieces gathered from the magazines and other sources 
where they were first published, and, we believe, a few posthu- 
mous pieces. We should have been glad if an editorial word had 
been prefaced to the contents of this volume to give the reader a 
somewhat better idea of the date and circumstances under which 
these essays were first written. We recognize the " Hardback " 
contributions as of Atlantic Monthly origin, if our memory serves, 
and also a few others, as the essay on " Domestic Service " and 
"The Swearing Habit." We recall the fresh delight and stimu- 
lus we used to receive in the reading of Whipple, and are con- 
scious, in the re-reading of portions of this volume, of a faded 
glow and inspiration, but this is the experience incidental, in a 
measure, to the second perusal of all works and authors that were 
■our early favorites. There are a number of political essays in 
this volume which will doubtless prove useful reading to the new 
student of the troubled era of President Johnson and reconstruc- 
tion, but which seem of a rather time-worn character to the gen- 
eral reader. Yet the lover of Whipple, who has won his admirers 
worthily, will wish to add this latest collection of his writings to 
the rest. c. p. w. 




Autumn had come; the trees about the house had 
assumed their colored dress of decay, white webs hung 
over the stubble and the dewdrops lay upon them till 
the wind tore them and bore tliem from field and 
valley into the blue distance. A happy pair went hand 
in hand about the place. This year the fall of the 
leaf did not affect the Professor, for a new spring had 
begun in his life ; and his happiness was written in his 
countenance in characters which might be read by the 
most unlearned. 

Use was betrothed. Modestly she bore the invisible 
crown which, according to the opinion of the household 
and neighborhood, now encircled her head. There 
were still hours in which she could scarcely believe in 
her happiness. When she rose early from her bed, and 
heard the trailing of the plough, or when she stood in 
the dairy amidst the clattering of the milk pails, her 
future appeared like a dream. But in the evening, when 
she was sitting near her beloved one, listening to his 
words and conversing on subjects serious and trifling, 
she would lay her hand gently on his arm in order to 
assure herself that he belonged to her, and that for the 
future she would enter into the life in which his spirit 

The marriage was to take place before the winter, 
and before the lectures began at the University; for the 
Professor had petitioned against a long engagement and 
the father had yielded. 

"I would gladly have kept Use with me over the 
winter, for Clara must assume a portion of her duties, 
and the guidance of her sister would be very useful ; but 
it is better for you that it should be otherwise. You, 
my son, have proposed for my daughter after a short 
acquaintance, and the sooner Use accustoms herself 
to the life of the city, the better it will be for you both; 
and I think it would be easier for her in the winter." 

It was a time of happy excitement, and the necessity 
of providing for the new household brought down the 
feelings of the betrothed from their state of exaltation 
to earthly things. 

The Professor made a journey to the University. 
He went first to his friend. 

"Wish me joy," he exclaimed; "have confidence in 
her and me." 

The Doctor embraced him and never left his side 
during his stay ; he accompanied him in all his shopping 
and assisted him in the arrangement of the rooms. Ga- 
briel, who, from the visit of the country gentleman had 
anticipated coming events, and who had become doubt- 
ful of his own indispensability, felt proud when the 
Professor said to him : 




"Between you and me things remain as they were; 
do your best to make yourself useful to my wife." 

Then came Herr Hummel; in the name of the fam- 
ily he presented his congratulations, and of his own ac- 
I cord offered the use of two rooms in his house which he 
himself did not occupy. But Laura was more anxious 
than all the rest about the new inmate. She bqrst forth 
in verse thus: 

"How -will she be, of sweet or lofty mien? 
Most dignified, or cliarmingly serene? 
My heart beats fast and thoughts in chaos seem ! 
Will fond anticipations prove a dream ?" 

When the Professor begged of her and her mother 
to receive his future wife with friendliness and help her 
in her arrangements, and when he added to Laura that 
he hoped she would be on a friendly footing with his 
bride, he did not guess how much happiness he had 
given that young heart, which felt an unquiet longing to 
attach itself devotedly to some one. The indefinite de- 
scriptions which he gave concerning the character of his 
1 intended made a very vague impression which to Laura 
I became a frame in which she daily depicted new faces 

Meanwhile the women were occupied in the old 
' house preparing Use's outfit. The approaching mar- 

riage of her sister had transformed Clara into a young 
lady ; she helped and gave good advice and in every- 
thing showed herself clever and practical. Use was 
praising this in the evening to her father and then threw 
her arms around his neck and burst into tears. The 
father's moittli quivered ; he did not answer, but he held 
his daughter close to his heart. It fortunately happened 
that the last weeks before their separation were full of 
work and distraction. There was yet much to be done 
in the household and the father would not permit the 
betrothed couple to omit a single visit to his acquaint- 
ances in the neighborhood. 

One of the first was to the family of Rollmaus. Use 
had informed Frau Rollmaus in a special letter of her 
betrothal; this had created great excitement. Frau 
Rollmaus triumphed; but Rollmaus had his horse sad- 
dled and rode to Bielstein, but not up to the house. At 
the gate of the court-yard he inquired for the proprietor, 
and rode to him in the field. There he took him aside 
and began his congratulations with this short question: 

"What is he worth?" 

The question could be satisfactorily answered and 
he seemed satisfied. For he turned his horse round, 
trotted up to the house and presented his congratulations 
to Use and her betrothed, whom he now looked upon 
as her equal, and this time he pressingly repeated his 
invitation. After his return, he said to his wife: 

"I could have wished a better match for Use, but 
the man is not so bad after all." 

"Rollmaus," replied the wife, "I hope you will be 
have properly on this occasion." 

"What do you mean? "asked the Crown Inspector. 

"You must propose the health of the betrothed 
couple at dinner." 

The husband growled. " Well, then, but without 
any useless trash-like oratory, or being overpowered by 
feelings; I will have nothing to do with that." 

" The eloquence must be in the introduction," said 
Frau Rollmaus; "and if you will not do it I will under- 
take it myself, and you merely bring the health." 

The house of Rollmaus displayed its finest table linen 
and dinner service for the visit, and Frau Rollmaus 
showed not only a good heart bi:t good cooking. After 
the first course she clinked her glass and began excit- 
edly : 

" Dear Use, as Rollmaus, in proposing your health, 
will express himself shortly and laconically, I will just 
met'tion befurfhand th;it as olil friends < ■{ your pai'ents, 
we wish you joy from our hearts. And as we have lived 
together as good neighbors, sympathizing both in mis- 
fortune and when there was an agreeable addition to the 
family, and as we have often rendered each other mu- 
tual assistance in household matters, it is very sad for us 
that you are going to leave this part of the country. Yet 
we rejoice that you are going to a city where intellect, 
and higher aims are appreciated. I will not be volum- 
inous, therefore I beg of you both to remember us with 
true friendship." 

She put her handkerchief to her eyes and Rollmaus 
expressed the family feeling generally in four words: 

" Health to the couple." 

At departing Frau Rollmaus wept a little and 
begged the proprietor to permit them to be at the mar- 
riage, though no other guests were to be present. 

There was to be still another distraction. The Prince 
wished to stop on the way to his hunting castle and 
take breakfast in the old house. 

" It is well. Use, that you are with us," said her 

" But one does not know at all what such a person 
is accustomed to," rejoined Use, between pleasure and 

" His own cook will come over from the forester's 
house; he will help. Only see to it that he finds some- 
thing in the kitchen." 

It was a day of busy preparation, and the children, 
the housekeeper and the workwomen sat among heaps 
of branches and autumn flowers, twining wreaths and 

" Spare nothing," said Use to the old gardener; "he 
is the beloved father of our country. We, his children, 
bring him our flowers as a tribute." 

Hans, with the help of the Professor, arranged im- 
mense emblems and monograms of dahlias. 

The evening before the hunt the purveyor and cook, 
with their a*-tendants, arrived. The purveyor begged 



leave to set the table in the garden. "The Prince will 
be accompanied by the necessary servants; the rest of 
the waiting may be done by the waiting-maids of the 
house. The country customs will please the Prince." 

On the morning of the chase the proprietor rode in 
his best clothes to Rossau to receive the Prince, and the 
children thronged round the windows of the upper 
story, spying along the highway like bandits. Shortly 
before midday the carriage came up the hill and stopped 
at the door of the house. The proprietor and forester, 
who were riding on each side of the royal carriage, dis- 
mounted. The Prince descended with his suite, greet- 
ing them as he crossed the threshold. He was of ad- 
vanced age and middle height; had a small delicate face, 
from which could be seen that in youth he had been con- 
sidered a handsome man, with two intelligent eyes, be- 
neath which were many small wrinkles. Use entered 
the hall and the proprietor introduced his daughter in his 
simple way. The Prince greeted Use graciously with a 
few sentences and favored the Professor, who was pre- 
sented to him as bridegroom of the daughter, with some 
attention; whereupon the Professor was invited by the 
master of the hounds to join the party at breakfast. The 
Prince stepped into the garden directly, praised the house 
and the landscape and mentioned his recollection of hav- 
ing been here with his father as a boy of fourteen. 

Breakfast passed off admirably. The Prince asked 
questions of the proprietor, which showed an interest in 
the condition of the country. When they arose from 
the table, he approached the Professor, asked particulars 
about the University, and knew the names of several of 
his colleagues. The answers and general demeanor of 
the learned man induced him to prolong the conversa- 
tion. He told him that he himself was somewhat of a 
collector; he had brought ancient coins and other an- 
tiques from Italy and any increase in his collection 
gave him much pleasure. And he was pleased to find 
that the Professor was already acquainted with several 
of the more important ones. 

When the Prince, in conclusion, asked the Professor 
whether he belonged to this country, Felix answered 
that accident had brought him here. It suddenly oc- 
curred to him that this was an opportunity, which might 
never recur, of making known to the highest power in 
the country the fate of the lost manuscript, and thereby, 
perhaps, gaining an order for further research in the 
residence. He began his account. The Prince listened 
with evident excitement; while cross-questioning him 
about it, he drew him further from the company and 
seemed so entirely engrossed in the affair as to forget 
the hunting. The master of the hounds, at least, looked 
at his watch often and spoke to the proprietor of the 
interest which the Prince seemed to take in his son-in- 
law. At last the Prince closed the conversation: 

" I thank you for your communication. I value the 

confidence which you have shown me. If I can be of 
any use to you in this matter apply directly to me ; and 
should you happen to come into my neighborhood, let me 
know. It would give me pleasure to see you again." 

When che Prince passed through the hall to the car- 
riage he stopped and looked round. The master of the 
hounds gave the proprietor a hint. Use was called 
and again made her obeisance, and the Prince in few 
words thanked her for her hospitable reception. Before 
the carriage had disappeared from the farm-buildings 
the Prince again looked back to the house, and this civil- 
ity was fully appreciated. 

" He turned quite round and gave a look of peculiar 
interest," said one of the laborers' wives, who had 
placed herself with the working people near the ever- 
green arch by the barns. 

All were contented and rejoiced in the graciousness 
and civility which had been given and received in good 
part. Use praised the Prince's attendants, who had 
made everything so easy; and the judicious questions of 
the Prince had pleased the Professor much; and when 
the proprietor returned in the evening, he related how 
well the chase had gone off, and that the Prince had 
spoken most kindly to him and had wished him joy of 
his son-in law before everybody. 

The last day that the maiden was to pass in her 
father's house came. She went with her sister Clara 
down to the village, stood by the window of the poor 
Lazarus, stopped at every house and committed the 
poor and sick to the care of her sister. Then she sat a 
long time with the Pastor in his study. The old man 
held his dear child by the hand and would not let her 
go. On departing, he gave her the old Bible which his 
wife had used. 

" I meant to take it with me to my last abode," he 
said, " but it will be better preserved in your hands." 

When Use returned she seated herself in her room 
and the maids a«d workwomen of the house entered one 
after another. She took leave of each of them sepa- 
rately and spoke to them once more of what each had 
most at heart, gave comfort and good advice, and a 
small keepsake from her little store. In the evening 
she sat between her father and lover. The tutor had 
taught the children some verses; Clara brought the 
bridal wreath, and the little brother appeared as a guai"- 
dian angel ; but when he began his speech he burst out 
sobbing, concealed his head in Use's lap and would not 
be comforted. 

When at bed-time they had all left. Use for the last 
time sat in her chair in the sitting-room. When her 
father prepared to retire, she handed him a candle. The 
father put it down and paced up and down without 
speaking. At last he began: 

" Nothing shall be changed in your room and when 
you return to us you shall find it as you left it. No one 



•can replace you on this estate, neither to your brothers 
and sisters nor to your father. I give you up with sor- 
row to enter upon a life which is unknown to us both. 
Good night, my beloved child; Heaven's blessing upon 
you. God guard your noble heart. Be brave, Use, for 
life is full of trials." 

He drew her to him and she wept quietly on his 

The following day the morning sun shone through 
the windows of the old wooden church upon the place 
before the altar. Again Use's head was surrounded by a 
heavenly radiance and the countenance of the man into 
whose hand the old Pastor laid that of his favorite beamed 
with happiness. The children of the house and the 
workwomen of the farm strewed flowers. Use, with 
her wreath and veil, stepped over the last flowers of the 
garden, looking heavenward. From the arms of her 
futher and sisters, amid the loudly expressed blessings of 
Frau Rollmaus and the gently-murmured prayer of 
the old Pastor, her husband helped her into the carriage. 
Another hurrah from the people, one more glance at 
her old home, and Use pressed the hand of her husband 
and clung closely to him. 



The leaves were falling in the woods around the city. 
Use stood at the window thinking of her home. The 
wreaths over the door v^^ere faded, the linen and clothes 
were stowed away in the presses, her own life glided on 
so quietly, while all around her was noise and bustle. 
Her husband was fitting in the next room over his 
work; no sound but the rustling of the leaves as he 
turned them penetrated through the door and at times 
the clattering of plates in the kitchen which was close 
by. Her dwelling was very pretty, but hedged in on 
all sides; at one side the narrow street; behind was 
the neighboring house, with many windows for curious 
eyes; toward the wood, also, the horizon was shut in by 
grey trunks and towering branches. From the distance, 
the hum and cries of the busy town sounded in her ear 
from morning till night; above were to be heard the 
tones of a pianoforte, and on the pavement, without 
ceasing, the tread of the passers-by, wagons rolling 
and loud voices quarreling. However long she looked 
out of the window, there were always new people and 
unknown faces, many beautiful equipages and, on the 
other hand, many poor people. Use thought that every 
passer-by w^ho wore fashionable attire must be a person 
of distinction, and when she saw a shabby dress she 
thought how heavily life pressed upon the poor here. 
But all were strangers to her; even those who dwelt 
near, and could watch her proceedings on all sides, had 
little intercourse with her, and if she inquired concern- 
ing individuals, the inmates of her house could give but 

scanty account of them. All was strange and cold and 
all was an endless tumult. Use felt in her dwelling as if 
she were on a small island in a stormy sea, and this strange 
life caused her much anxiety. 

But, however gigantic and noisy the town seemed to 
Use, it was at bottom a friendly monster; nay, it fostered 
perhaps, rather than otherwise, a secret inclination to 
poetic feelings and to private courtesy. It was true that the 
stern burgomasters had given up the custom of welcom- 
ing distinguished strangers with wine and fish, but still 
they sent their first morning greeting through their 
winged prot^g^s, which had already delighted Use's 
father. The pigeons flew round Use's window, crowded 
against the panes and picked at the wood till Use strewed 
some food for them. When Gabriel removed the break- 
fast, he could not refrain from taking some credit to 

" I have for some weeks scattered food before this 
window, thinking it would be agreeable to you to see 

And when Use looked at him gratefully, he contin- 
ued ingenuously : 

" For I also came from the country, and when I first 
came to the barracks I shared my rations with a strange 

But the town took care that other birds should be- 
come intimate with the lady from the country. On the 
very first day that Use went out alone (it was an un- 
pleasant walk, for s,he could scarcely resist stopping be- 
fore the showy shop windows, and she colored when 
people looked boldly in her face), she had found some 
poor children in front of a confectioner's, who looked 
longingly through the windows at the pastry; this long- 
ing look had touched her and she entered and distributed 
cakes among them. Since then, it happened that every 
noon there was a slight ringing at Use's door, and little 
children, in tattered clothes, produced empty cans, which 
were filled and carried home, to the great vexation of 
Herr Hummel, who could not approve of such encour- 
agement to rogues. 

\V tieu list, uii Lhc cvtuiiig of lier arrival, was taken by 
her husband into her room, she found a beautiful cover 
spread over her table, a masterpiece of fancy work, and 
on it a card, with the word "Welcome." Gabriel stated 
that Fraulein Laura had brought this present. The 
first visit, therefore, on the following morning was made 
to those who occupied the lower story. When Use en- 
tered the sitting-room of the Hummel family, Laura 
sprang up blushing, and stood embarrassed before the 
Professor's wife; her whole soul went out to the stranger, 
but there was something in Use's demeanor that inspired 
her with awe. Ah ! the much longed-for one was un- 
doubtedly noble and dignified, even more so than Laura 
had expected ; and she felt herself so very insignificant 
and awkward that she shyly received Use's warm thanks 



and drew back some steps, leaving it to her mother to 
do the talking. But she did not weary of gazing at the 
beautiful woman and, in imagination, adorning her figure 
with the finest costumes of the tragic stage. 

Laura declared to her mother that she would like to 
make the return visit alone, and on the first suitable day 
stole upstairs in the twilight hour with beating heart, — 
yet determined to have a good talk. But, as accident 
vi^ould have it, immediately after her arrival the Doctor 
entered, disturbing the peace, and consequently there was 
nothing but a fragmentary conversation, and hackneyed 
forms of speech which were very unsatisfactory. She 
took leave, angry with the Doctor, and dissatisfied with 
herself because she had found nothing better to say. 

Since then the new lodger upstairs became an object 
of incessant and secret adoration to Laura. After dinner 
she placed herself at the window, watching for the hour 
when Use went out with her husband. Then she watched 
her from behind the curtains with admiration. She would 
often flit over the hall-way and about the door of the 
lodgers; but when Use appeared in the distance she 
would hide, or if she met her she would make a deep 
courtesy and, on the spur of the moment, could only 
think of ordinary things to say. She was much troubled 
lest her pianoforte playing might disturb her, and in- 
quired at what hours it would be least annoying to her; 
and, one day when that nuisance of a red dog had snarled 
at Use and had maliciously bitten into her dress, she was 
so angry that she took her parasol and drove the mon- 
ster down stairs. 

In her mother's name — for she could not venture upon 
it in her own — she began a campaign of small attentions 
against the tenants of the upper floor. When vendors 
offered their tempting wares for the kitchen, Laura would 
frequently disappoint Herr Hummel's epicurean tastes; 
for she regularly sent the young geese and fat hens up- 
stairs, till at last the servant, Susan, became so bitter at 
this preference of the lodgers that she besought the aid 
of Frau Hummel. One day Laura learnt from Gabriel 
that the Professor's wife had asked for a certain kind of 
apple; Laura hastened to the market and searched till 
she found a little basket of them and brought them home ; 
and this time she compelled even Herr Hummel himself 
to send up the basket with many compliments. Use was 
pleased with these household courtesies, but did not 
guess the secret source. 

( To he continued.) 

Never value anything as profitable to thyself which 
shall compel thee to break thy promise, to lose thy self- 
respect, to hate any man, to suspect, to curse, to act the 
hypocrite, to desire anything which needs walls and 
curtains. — Marcus Aurelius. 

Woman, once made equal to man, becomes his 
superior. — Socrates. 



EDWARD C. HEGELER, Pkesident. 

DR. PAUL CARUS, Editor. 


Open Court is devoted to the work of conciliating Kelig^ion with 
^^ii;....c. Tlie founder and editor have found this conciliation in Monism — to 
present and defend which is the main object of The Open Court. 

The Open Court has for contributors the leading thinkers of Ihe old 
and new world. 

_ Translations from the most prominent authors of Europe have been pro- 
id efforts are made to present the_ very best and most advanced thought 
* : questions. 

bearing on scientific, religious, social ; 


All communications should be addressed to 


Nixon Building, 175 La Salle Street, 


[The Open Court acknowledges the receipt of all books, but the editor 
cannot pledge himself to have all rel'iezued.'] 

Society in Rome LTnder the Caesars. By Willi,am Ralph Inge, M. A. 
New York: Chas. Scribner's Sons. 

Bonaventure: a Prose Pastoral of Acadian Louisiana. By Geo. 
W. Cable. New York: Chas. Scribner's Sons. 

People's Year Book and Traveler's Companion. By a Chicago Law- 
yer. New York and Chicago: Brentano Bros. 

Der Altindische Geist. Von Michael Haberlandt. Leipzig, 1887: A. 
G. Liebeskind. 

Allerlei Deutsames. Von Hans Grasberger. Leipzig, 1S8S: A. G. 

BiJCHER UNO Menschen— EiNE Festgabe. Leipzie: A. G. Liebeskind. 

Omaha Sociology. By Rev. James Owen Dorsey. Washington, D. C. : 
Government Printing OfEce. 

Outlooks on Society', Literature and Politics. Edwin Percy 
Whipple. Boston: Ticknor & Co. 

Looking Backward. 2000-1S87. A Novel. Edward Bellamy. Bos- 
ton: Ticknor & Co. 

Communion with God. A Sermon by John W. Chadwick. Boston: 
Geo. H. Ellis. 

Christianity the Safeguard of the Republic. German and English. 
Rev. J. Hochuly. Fairfield, Iowa. 

The Business Training of an American Citizen. Rev. J. Hochuly. 
Fairfield, Iowa. 

Natural Right, Natural Liberty and Natural Law: An Inquiry 
into the Causes of Social Maladjustments — the Rational, Just and Adequate 
Remedy. By Frank I. Stuart. Denver, Colo,: Arbitrator Publishing Co., 
1653 Blake St. 

Contents of No. 33. 


Translated from ihe German in the Gegenvjart hy fiKpn. . . , 879 

PHYSIOLOGY. By Felix L. Oswald, M. D. IV. 881 



Arreat, 886 



Song: May Day Wishes. To Louis Belrose, Jr. 889 

Prof, von Gizycki and Determinism. Prof. Wm. James 889 

Outlooks on Society, Literature and Politics. Edwin 
Percy Whipple 890 


The Lost Manuscript. (Continued.) Gustav Freytag 890 

The Open Court 


Devoted to the Work of Conciliating Religion ^A^ith Science. 

No. 34. (Vol. II.— 8.) 


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Pari V. 


The study of the moral influence of diet, in its quali- 
tative aspects, reveals equally suggestive, and not less 
strangely ignored, facts. No practical agriculturist 
would hesitate to admit that the adaptation of any soil 
for the production of special crops can be modified by 
the use of special fertilizers. No beast trainer would 
deny the fact that the energy, the intelligence, the docil- 
ity, in short, the -psychological condition of any animal 
can be influenced by a change of diet. But the expo- 
nents of human psychology persist in ignoring such 
factors of causation. 

" For many years," says Herbert Spencer, " after 
men of science had become uniformitarians in geology, 
they remained catastrophists in biology; while recogniz- 
ing none but natural causes in the genesis of the earth's 
crust, they ascribed to supernatural agency the genesis 
of the organisms on its surface. Nay, more, among 
those who are convinced that living things in general 
have been evolved by the continued interaction of forces 
everywhere operating, there are some who make an ex- 
ception of man, or who, if they admit that his body has 
been evolved in the same manner as the bodies of other 
creatures, allege that his mind has been not evolved, but 
specially created." 

The same fallacy of dualism still rejects the physio- 
logical basis of ethics. Even by independent thinkers, 
nay, by many of our foremost educational reformers, the 
" immortal soul " is still treated as an alter ens, an entity 
governed by laws so distinct from those of nature in 
general that a dietetic suggestion by a spiritual adviser 
"would appear as irrelevant as a miracle legend in a 
treatise on marine steam engines. 

The hyperphysical tendency of our established sys- 
tem of ethics continues to influence the fields of inquiry 
so long monopolized by its dogmatists, and yet the chief 
Ijoast of that system, the alleged contrast between the 
patient meekness of its converts and the vindictive vio- 
lence of unregenerate man, can be proved to be mainly 
a result of dietetic habits. At the court of the Guicovar 
of Baroda (British India), Captain Gordon Elliot saw a 


" fighting horse," a special pet of the sport-loving 
prince's, who, by way of experiment, had fed a young 
stallion, at first on a mixed diet of chopped meat and 
oats, and finally almost on meat alone. Before the end 
of the third year the descendant of herbivorous ancestors 
had become a predatory beast of most aggressive tend- 
encies. Without the slightest provocation he would 
rush upon every visitor of his den, beat down goats or 
dogs with plunging kicks of his forefeet, and devour their 
entrails with all the greed of a famished hyena. He also 
attacked other horses, and once killed a wild boar which 
a day before had vanquished a panther; and the fierce- 
ness of his onsets resembled the rage of a vicious bull- 
dog, rather than the petulant caprice which now and 
then impels cart-horses to use their teeth on each other. 

The naturalist Brehm, on the other hand, mentions 
the achievements of an Abyssinian beast-tamer who 
trained young leopards to associate with his pet baboons, 
and ascribes his success to the milk and durrha bread 
diet which his speckled prisoners were obliged to share 
with their four-handed fellow captives. The best breed 
of Scotch shepherd dogs never taste meat and are per- 
mitted to suck a nursing ewe till their teeth grow strong 
enough to masticate hard cheese and oatmeal cakes. 
The smooth-skinned dogs which the Chinese have for 
centuries fattened for culinary purposes have undergone 
a curious metamorphosis of disposition. They are more 
gentle and submissive than the tamest spaniels, but seem 
to have lost their hunting instinct, and their timidity 
qualifies their value as watch-dogs. 

There is no doubt that some tribes of the human race 
have degenerated in the opposite direction. The cour- 
age of the pluckiest varieties of our next relatives, the 
frugivorous four-hander, is purely defensive. The mis- 
chievous pranks of the strong-fisted chimpanzee always 
stop short of actual cruelty; the brutal treatment of a 
defenseless fellow-creature excites the shrieking protests 
of the same baboon who a minute ago amused himself 
with twisting the tail of his playmate. In his rough- 
and-tumble sports with his fellow pets, my young man- 
drill forbears to make use of his teeth, but if a couple of 
dogs engage in a bona Jide fight, he is sure to rush in 
and part the combatants. It is more than probable that 
under normal conditions of development the human 
mind, too, manifests an instinctive abhorrence of cruelty. 
Children shudder at the gory scenes of a slaughter- 



house, and it is a significant circumstance that in nearly 
every known language the equivalents of the word hu- 
manity are used as synonymes of a merciful disposition. 
The paradise legends of the Semitic nations, and the 
traditions of the " Saturnian Age " of ancient Italy and 
Greece, preserve the memory of an era of horticulture 
and peace preceding the period of nomadic and predatory 
habits. The nature-abiding Greeks, with all their fierce 
hatred of despotism and love of warlike sports, were at 
heart averse to scenes of bloodshed, and when it was 
proposed to increase the attractions of the Panhellenic 
games by the introduction of Roman gladiators, the 
citizens of Athens and Corinth rejected the offer with 
the remark that the proconsul would first have to tear 
down the altars of mercy. 

Man's entire system of physical organization be- 
speaks a f rugivorous adaptation ; but by the same means 
that transformed the disposition of the Baroda stallion, 
our North American Indians and the hunting tribes of 
southern Africa have become imbued with all the san- 
guinary instincts of beasts of prey. The murderous in- 
ternecine wars of our American aborigines preceded the 
time v^rhen the intrigues of their Caucasian rivals fostered 
the causes of disunion, and were chiefly due to the same 
instincts of truculence that impels a mink to exhaust the 
chances of every favorable opportunity for slaughter; 
and the history of our western border wars abounds with 
the records of unprovoked massacres and inhuman 
butcheries of prisoners that might have been ransomed 
on terms which only a mania of bloodthirst could have 
induced needy captors to refuse. Gordon Gumming^ 
Dr. Schweinfurth and Mungo Park agree in their ac- 
counts of the hideous cruelties which constitute the fav- 
orite pastimes of the carnivorous savages of central 
Africa; and it is a suggestive fact that all the meat-sur- 
feited nations of the Caucasian race are characterized 
by a penchant for sanguinary sports. The neglect of 
agriculture and the abundance of cheap pasture grounds 
make animal food a predominant ingredient in the fare 
of the natives of the Spanish peninsula, and the viatan- 
zas (literally butcheries) of their bull-rings kindle an 
enthusiasm much more incomprehensible to their French 
neighbors than to their British fellow beef-eaters. In the 
border towns of the Spanish Pyrenees, niatanzas have 
been almost relinquished in deference to the protests of 
French residents, while in Matamoras, El Paso, and 
other cities of the Rio Grande frontier, bull fights, though 
denounced by the Anglo-American press, are liberally 
patronized by Anglo-American spectators, a class of 
sightseers by no means limited to " cow boys " and 
border ruffians. 

Carnivorous habits prevail both on the table lands of 
central Asia and in the jungles of the Sunda archipel- 
ago, and the blood feuds of the sluggish Malay are car- 
ried on with the same pitiless ferocity that marks the 

border raids of the restless Turcoman. The Hindostan 
vegetarians, on the contrary, extend their blood-abhor- 
ring humanity even to the lowest of their dumb fellow- 
creatures. With infinite patience the native fruit-planters 
of the Punjaub will drive off a troop of pilfering mon- 
keys again and again, rather than save themselves all 
further trouble by killing a few of the long-tailed 
marauders. In the suburbs of Agra, a British gardener 
who had shot and crippled a kalong (a frugivorous bat), 
was pursued by a howling mob, who finally cornered 
him in a side alley and with shrieks of execration shook 
the squealing harpy before his eyes. To the followers 
of Brahma, a " fox-hunting parson " is a preposterous 
anomaly. " The war-whoop of a prize-fighting nun," 
says an English writer," would not amaze those rice-eat- 
ers more than the words of the Anglican rector who as- 
sembles his domestics for morning prayer, and then donS' 
his shooting-jacket and calls out to his son: 'Say, Jack, 
get your shotgun; let's go and try and kill something." 

Race influences have a share in the causation of such 
contrasts, but we cannot deny the race affinities of the 
fierce Tartar huntsman and the submissive vegetarians of 
the Chinese coast lands. The agricultural negroes of 
the lower Senegal differ in disposition from the carniv- 
orous negroes of the upper Congo, as a rice-fed Shang- 
hai dog differs from a Turkestan wolf-dog. A still more 
remarkable contrast is perhaps that of the Indios bravos 
and Indios mansos of northern Mexico. The "brave'* 
redskins, including the Apaches, the Yaquis and scat- 
tered tribes of the Arapahoes, subsist almost exclusively 
on the products of the chase, and never fail to utilize a 
chance for murder and devastation. Colonel Ruxton's 
" Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains,'* 
details instances of barbarity which almost justify that 
bounty proclamation of a Governor of Chihuahua, who- 
offered " a shot premium of five dollars for the skull of 
every wolf, Apache or puma, delivered at the office of 
the City Comptroller Hernandez." 

The Indios mansos^ or " tame Indians," on the other 
hand, subsist on brown beans and the produce of their 
banana gardens, and deserve their name by an ultra 
Buddhistic patience of non-resistance. To the ruthless 
oppression of their Spanish taskmasters they opposed 
nothing but prayers, and on failing to accomplish their 
allotted task of gold-washing or log-hewing, would 
often travel thirty miles afoot to report for trial and its 
barbarous consequences. Professor Stevens, the ex- 
plorer of Yucatan, mentions a perhaps unparalleled 
instance of self-abasement, practiced in a popular drama 
— a veritable passion-play — of the Pinto Indians. A 
crowd of shackled slaves congregate on the stage, rub- 
bing their sores, and by mutual assistance succeed ia 
removing their fetters. Huddling together in a corner, 
they compare notes on their experience, and the recital of 
their martyrdom at last develops the initial phase of a 


conspiracy. Knives are sharpened and bow-strings 
fastened; but in the midst of these preparations a 
vulture-nosed and fierce-whiskered Spaniard appears on 
the scene, and by the discharge of a horse-pistol succeeds 
in frightening the malcontents into unconditional sur- 
render, so effectually, indeed, that many of them crawl 
upon their hands and feet and submit their necks to the 
boot-heel of the bearded Castilian ! 

Yet the ablest ethnologist would fail to distinguish 
the skull, the complexion and the physiognomic char- 
acteristics of the long-suffering manso from those of his 
truculent kinsman. 

Carnivorous habits engender aggressiveness, mor- 
dacity (more or less modified by the influence of domes- 
tication), ill-will, vindictiveness and a peculiar restless 
disposition, often ascribed to quite irrelevant causes. 
Compare the zigzag trot of the captive panther and the 
impatient rushes of the captive hyena with the com- 
placent attitudes of the captive deer, or the lazy good 
humor of the semi-vegetarian bear. In Polk county, 
Tennessee, I once attempted to domesticate a she-fox 
with a litter of cubs, and had frequent opportunities to 
study the effects of dietetic experiments upon the dispo- 
sition of my prisoners. After a good meal of milk, 
bread and blackberries, the 7naterfamilias would turn 
over on her back, playing with her youngsters for hours 
together, or dandling with a ball tied to the end of a 
whirling string. A meal of meat — even as much as the 
refuse scraps of a dressed rabbit — would set her a trotting 
to and fro to the full length of her tether, every now 
and then giving her chain a spiteful tug and confirming 
such symptoms of ill-humor by vicious snap-bites at the 
heels of every passer-by. The influence of the stimu- 
lating diet seemed to react even on her progeny, for on 
meat-day her usually tranquil cubs would scamper up 
and down my veranda steps. and often overcome their 
youthful timidity to the degree of climbing the fence 
and exploring the adjacent woodlands. Hence, perhaps, 
also the nomadic penchants of our North- American 
autochthones, and the impulsive restlessness (quite dis- 
tinct from industrial enterprise) of our Anglo-American 
population, with their predilection for three daily rations 
of rich meats. The French peasant, with all his Gallic 
vivacity, never emigrates while his ten-acre patch offers 
him a frugal chance of subsistence, while the exodus 
mania of our farming population has carried thousands 
of families from the sylvan paradise of the southern Al- 
leghanies to the alkali deserts of the Far West. 

The character-type of carnivorous animals harmo- 
nize perfectly with the exigencies of their predatory habits. 
A nursing she- wolf , in quest of prey, has often to range 
the scant hunting-grounds of the wilderness for hundreds 
of miles, and the ferine aggressiveness of the Bengal 
tiger doubtlessly turns his dreadful work into a source 
of pleasure. But few moralists of the present genera- 

tion would dare to trace the effect of analogous causes 
to their influence in aggravating the discords of temper 
and duty, of passion and precept, in the spheres of civ- 
ilized life: 

" Mel in ore, verba lactis, 
Fel in corde, fraus in factis," 

describes only the symptoms of a phenomenon not con- 
fined to the meat-gorged prelacies of the middle ages. 
"Alas, what avails all theology against a diet of bull- 
beef," writes Father de Smet from the Sioux missions; 
but our home missionaries seem agreed in ignoring the 
effects of cognate causes. The report of a recent con- 
vention of prison reformers mentions, however, a note- 
worthy remark of a Belgian delegate, who held that in 
the management of indoor workers a bill of prison fare 
prescribing a preponderance of meat rations, would be 
a refinement of cruelty, since the characteristic influence 
of such food would make the irksomeness of restraint 
an almost unbearable affliction. 


Translated from the German by F. W. Morton. 


We now proceed to the core of our investigation. 
If the organic world is a strictly bounded whole, if we 
can adduce proof that organic substance constitutes a 
definite, severed part of the world-substance, then by an 
arrangement of organic elements analogous to chemical 
elements it will surely be easy to make possible an ex- 
planation of organic phenomena. The difficulty and 
cause of confusion is, that organic substance, under what- 
ever fluctuations, springs from inorganic and again 
returns to it. Indeed, we can even at will develop or- 
ganic substance from inorganic; and daily we see or- 
ganic substance fall again to inorganic. 

This simple undeniable fact drives us with impera- 
tive necessity into the arms of a monistic view of the 
world, i. e. regarding all as 07ie. Every fundamental 
property which we are forced to attribute to the world- 
substance in order to explain any phenomenon, must 
belong to every part of this world-substance, and there- 
fore, according to an atomistic conception of matter, to 
every separate atom. 

According to our conception of substance every cen- 
ter of -condensation must evidently run the entire scale 
of feeling and be able to accommodate itself to all the 
phenomena of the world without exception. It can, 
therefore, play an equally correct role in both the great 
divisions, the organic and the inorganic realms. 

If just now we found it impossible to deduce from 
the current physical or mechanical conceptions of matter 
the organic phenomena, so we find it likewise difficult 
to establish the monotonous regularity and lifelessness 
of inorganic substance from the old established concep- 
tions of organic substance (according to which the in- 



organic must be a sort of weathering product of the or- 
ganic.) How can the kinetic philosopher explain how 
the atom of oxygen that, during millions of years, has 
rested in granite, passive and dead, suddenly becomes 
possessed of conscious feeling when it is afforded an op- 
portunity of entering a brain cell? Or how, on the 
other hand, can biology explain how the atom of oxy- 
gen, to-day a part of a brain cell and possessed of con- 
scious feeling, is to-morrow united with carbon and cast 
out as carbonic acid, again to enter the circle of purely 
physical, dead, mechanical processes? 

None of the former conceptions of matter explain or 
establish the fundamental difference between organic 
and inorganic activity. Yet, this difference exists, and a 
consistent idea of matter must above all things take it 
into account. 

In the work above referred to I have shown how 
the chemical elements, i. e. the old atoms, become groups 
of condensation centers, while the ether only springs 
from such original centers. Physics teaches us that all 
bodies, i. e. all material matter, can be reduced to three 
states of aggregation. — gaseous, fluid and solid. Every 
chemical element can run the entire scale of condensa- 
tion, and, according to our theory, likewise the entire 
scale of feeling, if the external conditions are furnished 
for it. Every atom by condensation can pass from the 
conscious feeling of life to the unconscious condition of 

In strict accordance with our theory, heavy, con- 
densed matter, like the metals, minerals, etc., which 
approach near to the maximum value of condensation in 
the positive direction, will be excluded from all con- 
scious feeling ; their state is a thoroughly passive and 
lifeless one, in direct opposition to those substances 
which exist in a fluid or gaseous state of aggregation, 
which are susceptible of conscious feeling, and therefore 
play the chief role in the organic world. We know 
that carbon, oxygen, hydrogen and nitrogen principally 
form the structures of the organic world. If to them, 
even, in the course of time, the possibility of condensa- 
tion, of transition to a solid state were offered, all mani- 
festation of conscious feeling would cease, and the organic 
world would be destroyed. Our world, benumbed and 
rigid, would rest in endless sleep, at least until after 
Eeons, in the course of cosmical cycles, the stiffened 
masses should again be called to new life. 

We thus see that it depends solely on the degree of 
density, or the state of aggregation of an atomic body, 
whether it can take part in the organic phenomena of 
life or not. And in strict accordance with actual facts, 
there prevails, according to our theory, no fundamental 
difference between an organic and an inorganic sub- 
stance. Whatever be the fluctuations, the latter can pass 
from the former and back again into it. One error, 
however, we shall have to avoid, namely, that there is 

a definite limit at which a tangible line of demarkation 
between organic and inorganic conditions of matter can 
be drawn. On the contrary, observation teaches us, and 
the principle of activity in the centers of condensation — 
that is, the unalterable striving, under all circumstances, 
for the maximum density — forces us to the assumption, 
that each atom in every state of aggregation, and there- 
fore even under the highest negative fluctuation, must 
exclude an inorganic, i. e. a simply physical mode of 
activity. The higher the negative fluctuation of an 
atom, the more energetic are its vibrations of contraction; 
and I have shown in another place how in these vibra- 
tions of contraction on the negative side are to be found, 
above all, the impulse toward chemical unions. For 
example, an atom of oxygen which, in consequence of its 
high negative fluctuation, becomes possessed of con- 
scious feeling can in the same or the next moment enter 
into a chemical union and therefore manifest a 
thoroughly physical course of action. The irresistible 
impulse toward condensation, however, impresses on 
every atom the sameness of the physical course and at 
the same time imparts to the latter the appearance of 
firm, unalterable regularity. 

Now, while the physical or mechanical action of an 
atom necessarily takes it through all states of aggrega- 
tion and degrees of density, -we have on the other hand 
to assume a point somewhere on the scale of condensa- 
tion at which the conscious feeling of an atom becomes 
extinct. It is, to be sure, impossible to determine this 
point even in the remotest way. We may, however, 
assume, that in the solid state of an atom this rise of 
manifest consciousness has been passed ; indeed, that it 
may already have been passed in the fluid state; and 
that to the gaseous state alone belongfs the real manifes- 
tation of consciousness. Accordingly, so far as it cor- 
responds to the different degrees of density as exhibited 
in the centers of condensation, this scale of feeling 
would move in a negative direction. 

In the work already cited I have shown how even 
in the gaseous state an atom may still traverse an im- 
measurable series of volumes, so that no especial diffi- 
culties would lie in the way of limiting the entire scale 
of feeling to the gaseous state. Yet this would not 
mean that all expression of feeling is to be relegated 
from the fluid state in which the maximum value of 
condensation is not yet reached; but, that in all proba- 
bility these modes of feeling are no longer likely to 
possess that degree of brightness which produces con- 
sciousness and which the generation of organic activity 
demands. The same may also be true of many a degree 
of density in the solid state. 

Now it may be justly asked: If the scale of feeling 
runs parallel with the scale of density of the gaseous 
state, if conscious feeling is joined with a high degree 
of negative fluctuation, must not the manifestation of 



conscious feeling, on the other hand, be attributable to 
all physical and, especially, chemical processes, to which 
matter in the gaseous state is subjected? This thor- 
oughly pertinent question leads us to the central point 
of our investigation, to the fundamental distinction be- 
tween the inorganic and the organic forms of matter. 

We have to imagine the contracting tendencies of 
the center of condensation as disturbed with so high an 
intensity that such a center, which suffers a negative 
fluctuation, seeks instantaneously to free itself from this. 
Thus in the shortest space of time, perhaps millions of 
these gradations, volumes of density, and, therefore, 
perhaps the entire scale of feeling, is traversed. I refer 
here for example to the chemical processes which I have 
exhaustively treated in another place (v. Force, Chapter 
on Chemism'), and in which I have shown how the 
negative fluctuation or tension is driven to a correspond- 
ing height, until emancipation results and the chemical 
union, together with the accompanying condensation of 
the new atomic group, takes place instantaneously. 

That perceptive actions of feeling come into play in 
all chemical and physical processes is therefore undeni- 
able; but it must likewise be seen that in such a moment- 
ary traversing of the scale of feeling a distinct difference 
between the separate modes of feeling is not possible. 
These can attain to no marked conscious expression; the 
rapid succession of the degrees of the scale will yield only 
a vague product which excludes all individual feelings. 
This is seen in all mechanical processes or acts, for we 
know of no single instance where the reaction of the 
particles concerned would not be an instantaneous, ex- 
plosion-like, momentary one. Indeed, upon this instan- 
taneous reaction of the minutest particles from every 
mechanical impact depends the velocity with which 
light, electricity, sound and heat are transmitted. 

The manifestation of a clearly and distinctly marked 
conscious feeling, on the other hand, demands exactly 
the opposite, i. e. a constant permanency in a definite 
degree of density. When, for example, the conscious 
product of feeling must come to expression as red, it is 
clear that the center of condensation must continuallv 
maintain that degree of density which corresponds to 
the mode of feeling, red. If this degree of density is 
of but momentary duration, it is self-evident that the 
sense-product red cannot attain to permanent con- 
sciousness. All our actual feelings, however, are char- 
acterized by such permanent and therefore sharply dis- 
tinguished conditions of feeling. 

When I speak, therefore, of the mechanical condi- 
tions of sense-perception, only such are to be understood 
as, in direct opposition to all physical or mechanical 
processes, maintain a ■permanency of a certain degree of 
density, of a certain condition of activity. Our conscious 
feeling does not arise by impacts of separate feelings, 
which are separated from one another, so to speak, by 

unconscious intervals of space; but it represents a con- 
tinuum., a continuation of an unbroken state of activity. 

The fundamental characteristic of the inorganic pro- 
cesses, as distinguished from the organic, consists in this, 
that while in the former the activity of the particles 
concerned is always a momentary one, in the latter this 
activity is a continuous one. In the inorganic processes 
the condition or state of repose, after its expiration, is 
again striven for and attained; in the organic processes, 
on the contrary, this state is never reached. I say ex- 
pressly, in the organic processes this state of repose is 
never reached. For, if conscious feeling is dependent 
upon the highest degrees of negative fluctuation in a 
center of condensation, it is clear that in the negative 
fluctuation all feeling is forced upon it. The negative 
fluctuation can never be striven for ; it must always be 
impelled or forced tovjard. And with it also the mani- 
festation of feeling. 

In unmistakable accordance with this we meet in the 
organic world, as one of its fundamental features, the 
desire for rest, for inactivity. Life is forced upon our 
planet. If the boundless light and heat of the sun did 
not uninterruptedly necessitate the high negative fluctu- 
ation, all life would immediately vanish from the face of 
our planet. Nay, further, the temporary absence of the 
sun's rays during night is sufficient to crown this striving 
for rest in the organic world with temporary success and 
banish conscious perception. Feeling, life and activity 
are forced upon organic matter, and it must not surprise 
one if, on such a fundamental basis, even with us human 
beings the condition which we designate as dolce far 
7iiente exerts such an irresistible charm. The strife for 
rest is a peculiar feature of the whole animal world. 



To those who understand clearly the present intel- 
lectual drift of the world, there is something amusing 
in the tenacity with which religious sectarians still con- 
test their minor battles. While the whole theological 
ship is in flames, and intelligent people everywhere are 
looking for their life-preservers, we see these contentious 
passengers engaged in disputes over their state-rooms. 
" Never mind your state-rooms," one feels like shouting 
in their ears; " unless something happens the whole ship 
will be gone presently." 

One need only refer, for illustration, to the Andover 
controversy, in which the leading orthodox sect of the 
country is divided against itself on the question whether 
there is probation in the future life for the unenlight- 
ened heathen. Probation in the future life, indeed. Un- 
happy disputants, who do not see that while they fight 
for the branch the whole tree has disappeared! For 
who among men now-a-days can say that there is a fu- 
ture life? 



When filled with weariness by the spectacle of such 
contentions as these, it is with gratitude one turns to a 
writer who deems it his ofiice to put aside disputed points, 
and to ask whether there are not some matters on which, 
despite the current skepticism, all good and intelligent 
men can unite in belief. " The author is one of those 
simpletons," says Professor Seeley of Oxford, in the pre- 
face to his Natural Religion^ " who believe that, alike 
in politics and religion, there are truths outside the region 
of party debate, and that these truths are more import- 
ant than the contending parties will easily be induced to 
believe." And Professor Seeley goes on, in his interest- 
ing book, which is certainly of the ablest, to elucidate 
these " truths outside the region of party debate." 

I say Professor Seeley's book is of the ablest, but 
the characterization is imperfect. Beyond question his 
Natural Religion is the most acute, the most novel, as 
it is also the most solid, the most instructive, and the 
most really helpful contribution that modern liberalism 
has made to literature. I do not think anyone who has 
read the work will call this over-praise. It should be 
added that it is also a book of special interest to readers 
of this journal, since in his attempt to find a " common 
basis of belief for all thoughtful men," Professor Seeley 
has adopted a form of monism which has many resem- 
blances to that advocated by The Open Court. Some 
of these resemblances it is my present purpose to point 
out, though I cannot hope to do anything like justice to 
a work which is too compact with thought to permit a 
summary that shall be both brief and satisfactory. It 
must suffice, at present, simply to make a statement of 
Professor Seeley's main theological position, to outline 
his new idea of a Deity; an idea so broadly conceived 
that its author thinks no man, be he scientist or theolo- 
gian, can refuse acknowledgment. 

This Deity whom Professor Seeley thinks all men 
can unite in acknowledging is, to begin with, not a theo- 
logical abstraction by any means. It is the Universe 
seen in its order and oneness, and especially in its one- 
ness. However they differ on other points, he believes 
all men can join in worshiping a " unity conceived in 
one way or another as holding the universe together," 
since this unity is an obvious fact, taught by all science 
and observation. In truth, the most striking thing about 
Nature to a reflective mind, is its unity, the fact that it 
coheres in one vast, orderly whole. We are so used to 
the spectacle that we grow indifferent to it; we search 
afar for a god when here one stands obvious to our eyes. 
Now, the author of Natural Religion contends that 
this wonderful unity of Nature can take the place of 
God; contends even that it is a "greater Deity than the 
average Christian worships." And why, he says, should 
we not call it God, since it can take the place of God — 
since we can look upon it with adoration and fear, can 
indeed worship it? "Men slide easily from the most 

momentous controversies into the most contemptible 
logomachies. If we look at things, and not merely at 
words, we shall soon see that the scientific man has a 
theology and a God, a most impressive theology, a most 
awful and glorious God. I say that man believes in a 
God who feels himself in the presence of a Power which 
is not himself and is immeasurably above himself, a 
Power in the contemplation of which he is absorbed, 
in the knowledge of which he finds safety and happi- 
ness. And such now is Nature to the scientijic many 

We should misunderstand our author, however, if 
we attributed to him, on account of the above para- 
graph, a desire to re-establish the old theism of the 
churches. By what he calls God he simply means the 
unity of Nature. We might call it Nature, instead, he 
says, but since the word "Nature" does not arouse in us 
thoughts of worship and devotion, and since the word 
" God " does, the latter is preferable to a writer who is 
seeking to arouse religious rather than skeptical thoughts. 

The wonderful unity of Nature is therefore the new 
deity to whom Professor Seeley would lift men's eyes 
in the present days of doubt. Science has come, theol- 
ogy has fallen before it, and the world is Godless, men 
have exclaimed. " Not so!" cries this new voice. " Sci- 
ence itself has revealed to us a Deity — yes, a grander 
and greater one than we have ever known before!" 

The skeptical will ask what there is in this Unity 
of Nature that entitles it to this new role; what are its 
credentials; wherein is it aught save a mere phenome- 
non, like the rest of Nature? The unity of Nature is not 
a mere phenomenon, because it holds phenomena together; 
because without it Nature would be a drifting chaos, 
while with it it is an orderly and interdependent whole. 
With this Power that unifies phenomena, that makes 
the All, we are but poorly acquainted, but that does not 
contravene its evident existence, or make it less awe- 
compelling. It is a Power which men can worship, 
since, on the one hand, its proportions are so vast and 
wonderful, and, on the other, it is so intimately and bene- 
ficently interwoven with all the processes of human life. 
" But it is not merely because he realizes a stupendous 
Power that I call a scientific man a theist. A true theist 
should recognize his Deity as giving him the law to 
which his life ought to be conformed; and there is no 
stronger conviction in this age than the conviction of the 
scientific man, that all happiness depends upon the 
knowledge of the laws of Nature, and the careful adap- 
tation of human life to them." 

The Power that gives unity to Nature, that makes 
it One, can therefore be worshiped because it supplies to 
man the law of life. It can be worshiped also because 
its manifestations are infinitely interesting and beautiful, 
t' He who studies it has continually the exquisite pleas- 
ure of discerning, or half discerning, and divining laws; 
regularities glimmer through an appearance of con- 



fusion; the mind is haunted with tlie sense of a vast 
unity not yet discoverable or nameable." And finally, 
the unity of Nature is to be worshiped because we have 
a personal relation to it, because our own lives, our own 
minds, belong to and come from this mysterious Power, 
and are a part of it. 

It will thus be seen that Natural Religion would 
not have us worship Nature simply as Nature in the 
poetical sense. Not because of the flooding sunshine, 
the strong mountains, the calm stars, does science call us 
to the worship of its new Deity. But because sunshine 
and mountains and stars, and all the wonderful things 
that are, do not live apart, but are bound together in a 
yet more wonderful Whole. They are the separate words, 
the Whole is the complete and pregnant sentence. We 
have not read the sentence yet, but who has not felt that 
its meaning may be something vast and deep, beyond 
all our ken ? (7.^4, concluded.) 



Some time ago I made a few remarks upon that 
*' competition " hobgoblin, which makes the hair of 
workingmen stand up in fright, " like quills upon the 
fretful porcupine." From my boyhood, it was a terror 
to me, but it does not scare me now. As I grew older 
I grew bolder, and at last I walked close up to it and 
€xamined it. I found it was a hollow pumpkin, with 
eyes, nose and mouth cut in it, and stuck on a stick 
clothed in the drapery of a white sheet. I see that the 
President of the Federation of Trades Unions has ex- 
hibited this venerable old ghost to the Senate Committee 
on Education and Labor. Whether it scared the com- 
mittee or not I cannot say. Since then I have noticed 
that some other gentleman has appeared before the same 
committee, in company with the same specter, and de- 
manded that convict labor shall not be put in competi- 
tion with the mechanic trades, but shall be exclusively 
devoted to the business of " working on the roads." 

I have tried to analyse the principle of non-compe- 
tition, as enforced by the trades unions, and so far as I 
have been able to resolve it into its constituent elements, 
its chief ingredients appear to be monopoly and selfish- 
ness, with some very foolish dread of the evils of abun- 
dance. Take this convict labor question for example. 
Convict labor is not opposed on any ground but that of 
<' competition." It competes with outside labor, that is, 
it produces something, and this production is the injury 
complained of. Let us reduce the question to a concrete 
form. Suppose that the two thousand convicts in the 
penitentiaries of Illinois are all compelled to work at 
the shoemaking trade, and suppose that they each make 
a pair of shoes a day, or 62,400 pairs a year, will it be 
contended that the addition of this number of shoes to 
the common stock is an injury to the people of Illinois.^ 

There is no one who will claim that; but the President 
of the Federation will say: " It is an injury to the shoe- 
makers' trade, and therefore it ought to be prevented." 

Very well, then make tailors of the convicts. This 
plan doesn't solve the difficulty either, for the tailors 
won't agree to it, nor the tinkers, nor the tanners, nor 
the masons, nor the carpenters, nor any other trade. As 
the butcher, and baker, and candlestick-maker all refuse 
to work in competition with the convicts, and as none of 
these economists are daring enough to require that the 
convicts live in idleness, an easy solution of the problem 
is found by compelling them "to work upon the roads." 
But really this is only shifting the difficulty, and is no 
solution at all. At school I have solved many a hard 
problem in long division, which is as far as I went, by 
getting some other boy to do the sum for me, and the 
President of the Federation adopts the same plan with 
the convict labor difliculty. He dumps it on the " la- 
borer" class, and says: " Here, you man with the wheel- 
barrow, work this hard sum." But I am not able to 
work it, because I find that I cannot set the convicts at any 
useful employment without putting them in competition 
with somebody. They must either live in idleness at 
the expense of the community, or they must earn some- 
thing to pay for their board ; to earn something they 
must produce something, and that is an addition to the 
aggregate wealth of the people, at which we all get a 
nibble at last. 

If adding to the wealth of the country is an injury, 
then subtracting from that wealth must be a benefit, and 
therefore the destruction of shoes and clothes, and houses 
and furniture, must be a desirable thing; the Chicago 
fire, instead of being a great calamity, was a great bless- 
ing. This fallacy is firmly cherished by workingmen; 
it is the guiding principle of trades unions, and is pro- 
ductive of want and poverty incalculable. It was in- 
stilled into me in my very childhood, and it was late 
when I got rid of it. *I never ate a meal, when a boy, 
that was not somehow or other complicated with the 
everlasting consideration of "work." When I got a 
good dinner I knew that my father was "in work;" 
when the meal was scanty I knew that he was "out of 
work." In our home all human affairs whirled round 
and round the image of "work" forever. A big fire 
devoured a street — " It will make work," I heard my 
father say. A ship was lost at sea laden with silk, and 
leather, and cloth — " It will make work," said my father. 
A reservoir broke jail and swept the heart of the town 
away — " It will make work," my mother, said ; and so 
all human calamities were softened as blessings to me; 
they made work, and work made wages, and wages 
made bread and potatoes and clothes for me. God bless 
the shipwreck, and the fire, and the flood; they make 

" Work, work, work, till the eyes are heavy and dim, 
And work, work, work, till the brain begins to swim." 



Oh, comrade of the trowel, the needle, and the awl; 
oh, toiler at the anvil and the loom; oh, brother of the 
jackplane and the shovel ; oh, chivalry of toil by land 
and sea, it is not work we need so much as rest. Let 
us make all the wealth we can, and destroy nothing; let 
us not be jealous of each other's talent, but teach each 
other everything we know. Let us make plenty in the 
land, and then let us try to shape our social system and 
the laws so that a fairer share of it will come to us after 
we have made it. i 

Last fall I picked up a newspaper and read in great 
black headlines this alarming news: "A Heavy Frost. 
It spread over various sections of the Northwest Friday 
night. Early planted corn escaped with little injury ; the 
late crop practically ruined." It requires no great skill 
in political economy, as they call it, to understand that 
the blighting of the corn crop is a great calamity; it 
means less food the coming winter, and less food means 
less of clothes, and coal, and wood. And yet there are 
a lot of workingmen who would regard a blight 
of the hat crop, or the shoe crop, or the coat crop 
as a blessing to labor; but in truth they are all equally 
injurious as the blighting of the cattle and the corn. 
Food, and clothes, and furniture, and all necessaries of 
life, are so intimately related, that the blight of one is 
the blight of all, and it means less of each to the work- 

It is easy to prove by the doctrines of the anti-com- 
petitionists that this disaster to the corn crop is a good 
thing, because it removes from the farmers living south 
of the frost line the competition in the corn market of 
the farmers living north of it. And it is also a good 
thing for the people who have old corn in the bins; but 
this is a narrow and selfish way to look at it, and if the 
doctrine be carried out to its logical end it elevates to the 
rank of a moral principle the unnatural dogma that the 
prosperity of one man depends upon the adversity of 
another. Once upon a time I had a job of " work on 
the roads" not far from an Indian agency. The tribe 
had just been paid off, and the Indians were trading at 
the store up at the agency where I happened to go for 
some tobacco. They were buying some needles, for 
which the trader charged them fifty cents apiece. They 
complained of the price, but when the trader assured 
them that the needle-maker was dead, and the needle- 
making industry thereby terminated, they appeared satis- 
fied. This lying excuse for the high price of needles 
presented to me a tough problem in economic science, 
and I went up to the shanty to work it out. 

I lighted my pipe, and tried to read the solution of 
the problem in the clouds of smoke. The first question 
to be answered was this: Suppose the needle-maker was 
really dead and his art lost forever, would that be a 
good thing? I had no trouble with this question at all. 
I could readily see that although it might be a good 

thing for the man who happened to have a large stock 
of needles on hand, it would be a bad thing for every- 
body else. The next question was not so easy. It was 
this: Suppose that one-half of the needle-makers in the 
world should die to-night, would that be a good thing 
in an economic point of view ? It took several pipes of 
tobacco to answer this question, and I am not sure that 
I got it right even then. The answer involved so many 
collaterals. It was very clear that if every needle- 
maker was a master, and not a journeyman, those who 
survived, being relieved of competition to such a great 
extent, would make good profit out of it by raising the 
price of needles, but the community would still be losers.- 
But suppose that of the survivors 95 per cent, werfr 
journeymen, and 5 per cent, masters, where would the 
new profits go ? Labor being a marketable thing, the 
masters would still want to buy it at the old figures, and 
the jours would get but a trifling raise of wages, while 
the increased value of needles would nearly all go into 
the pockets of the masters. But even supposing that 
the increased profit were fairly divided between them^ 
the community would still have to pay it, and, therefore, 
the sudden removal of so much competition in the trade 
would be an injury, and not a benefit. Applying this 
rule to every other trade and occupation, it appeared to 
me that the loss of wealth, or of wealth-producing^ 
capacity, is injurious to the community, that the work- 
ingmen cannot be benefited by such loss, and that all at- 
tempts to ci-eate a scarcity of competition by crippling 
talent, or forbidding the industry of anybody, can only 
be of local or personal benefit here and there, and the 
pursuit of such false systems of relief is a sad waste of 
the moral strength of the workingmen. 

" Nature abhors a vacuum," is a maxim in physics,, 
and in moral philosophy also. So nature tries forever 
to preserve an equilibrium in the moral and material 
universe. The very earthquakes and volcanoes are 
efforts in this direction, and men can no easier keep 
trades unbalanced than they can disturb the level of the 
sea. Create a vacuum in any trade and nature rushes in 
to fill it. If I could give paralysis to every shoveler to- 
night, how long should I enjoy my monopoly ? In a 
week I should see shovelers galore. The telegraph 
operators made a vacuum, but only for an instant; it at 
once began to fill; in a month the hole was almost gone 
We may think we have destroyed competition by ex- 
cluding a brother craftsman here, but he or somebody 
else has slipped in over there, for the struggle of life 
goes on. We must liberate labor, and exalt it by 
grander schemes than these. 

The source of final happiness is inherent in the 
heart; he is a fool who seeks it elsewhere. He is like 
the shepherd who searched for the sheep which was in 
his bosom. — Hindu Vemana. 




Some time ago the world of science was startled by 
Du Bois-Reymond's declaration of a seven-fold igno- 
rab{?mis. Quite in harmony with English agnosticism 
this prominent German scientist despaired of ever at- 
taining to a satisfactory solution of the most important 
problems in science and philosophy. He found much 
opposition, and many of his colleagues opposed him 
with a triumphant invenimus. We stated our view on 
the subject in the editorial of No. 23, " The Unknow- 
able," in which we declared that the agnostic Un- 
knowable is a chimera; the very essence and nature of 
natural phenomena is knowability. There is no mystery 
in nature of which we can proclaim an ignorabimus. 
Those questions, however, as to the ultimate cause of 
existence at large, which from their very nature admit 
of no answer — the transcendent or metaphysical problems 
as they are often called — are not justifiable. Such a 
thing as an ultimate cause, or a first cause, is a self-con- 
tradiction; an ultimate cause is an absurdity and exists 
as little as fabulous griflins and sphinxes. A sphinx 
will always be an enigmatic creature as long as we be- 
lieve in its existence and try to realize how it can possi- 
bly live, and breathe, and have its being. The result of 
profound study and thought on the life of a sphinx will 
always be a modest and humble ignorabimus. But the 
sphinxes of science, the unexplainable mysteries of na- 
ture, are creatures of our own imagination. We can 
dispense with ultimate causes as well as with unknow- 
abilities altogether. If we fully understand what causal- 
ity means, the mystery which shrouds nature is dispelled. 
We shall see that nature's work is open and clear, not 
hidden and secret; it is knowable and not inscrutable. 

As to the existence of reality, or the existence of the 
world at large, we accept it as a fact. A fact must be 
verified by statement. To prove a fact, means to verify 
it by witnesses. Existence at large, or the existence of 
the world, viz. : the truth that there is something at all 
cannot be explained by comprehension as phenomena 
are explained, it cannot logically be deduced by syllo- 
gisms or mathematical demonstrations. We must accept 
it like other facts on the evidence of witnesses. The 
chief witness in this case are we ourselves. By our very 
existence we bear testimony to the truth of the existence 
of reality, and this is the truth which is at the bottom of 
Descartes' dictum, cogito, ergo sum. 

In thus taking the side of those who, encouraged by 
the success of science in so many fields of inquiry, re- 
joice in their invenimus (i, e. we have found a solution), 
we freely acknowledge also our ignoramus on many, 
and, indeed, on most important subjects. But observe, 
while the desperate ignorabimus (the we-shall-never- 
know) is an insurmountable obstacle to the progress of 
science, the modest ignoramus (the we-do-not-yet-know) 

is an inexhaustible source to furnish new food for 
thought and investigation. The ignorabimus stands in 
contradiction to the invenimus; hnithe ignoramus wery 
well agrees with an aspiring and hopeful inveniemus, 
i. e. we shall find the solution of the problem, for the 
problem in itself is not insolvable. 

We cannot find fault with the proud heureka of a 
Pythagoras. The invenimus of scientists can only be- 
come dangerous to science if it is the satisfied expression 
of a narrow-minded, self-contentedness. There are 
many problems, which, when once settled, are settled for- 
ever. But even they will only be a basis for further 
inquiry, as human cognizance can never embrace the 
rich and great totality of all possible knowledge in all 
its particulars. 

In true science the ignoramus and the inveniemus will 
always go together. The range of nature is so wide and 
the scope of science is so large, that with each problem 
solved we can be sure that new problems will arise; but 
none of them will be insolvable, and each ignoramus 
naturally carries with it its inveniemus. p. c. 



The first time man did conscious wrong. 
He recognized mysterious powers; 

That, like a tempest fierce and strong, 
Blighted and killed life's fairest flowers. 

Then, wondering what the cause might be,, 
He never thought himself to blame — 

Supposed it was an enemy — 
And so the birth of Satan came. 

And even now, with broadened mind, 
Man will not bear the blame of evil; 

But seeks some alien cause to find, 

While he himself remains — the Devil. 


To the Editor of The Open Court: 

I was very much interested and edified by the discussion iw 
the last number of The Open Court on the subject of conciliat- 
ing or teconciling Religion with Science. The subject is an im- 
portant one, and suggests to my mind many reflections. 

In my opinion the position taken by your critic was very well 
answered by the editor. As I view the subject, a true science and 
a true religion need no conciliation. Like all great truths they 
are always, and necessarily, in harmony. The fact is, a true re- 
ligion is a department of science, and is capable of a scientific ex- 

The conflict is only between science and a false or supernatural 
religion. The issue to-day is mainly between the advocates of a- 
rational and natural, and, therefore, a scientific religion, and the 
devotees of an irrational and anti-natural religion. 

If The Open Court proposes to conciliate science, properly 
so called, with a supernatural religion, it is undertaking to accom- 
plish an impossibility. On the other hand, if it proposes to con- 
ciliate that which needs no reconciliation, namely, a true science 
and a natural religion, it is doing a work of supererogation. 



However, I think your position lias been made sufficiently 
clear, viz. : that when properly understood, there will be seen to 
exist no conflict, no antagonism between religion and science. 

The question is, has the concept, idea or emotion, for which the 
abstract term religion stands as a symbol, a true and valid basis 
in the human mind, and if so, what is the cause of it? We answer, 
it has, just as much so as have the concepts of truth, goodness, 
justice, beauty, love and order, which are symbolized by the terms 
science, art, law, family and civil government. 

The reason and cause of all these are to be sought for and 
iound in the relations subsisting between man and his environments' 
The principle of natural selection operating by conservative inherit- 
ance on the one hand, and by progressive adaptation on the other 
•will explain them all. 

Now, in considering the question of religion or any other rea' 
phenomenon of human nature, we must not lose sight of the 
scientific fact that man is a part and a prqduct of nature. 

That he has been built up in nature, body and mind, and con- 
stantly subjected to its powerful influences. Emerging from 
an ape- like ancestry of arboreal habits into the savage man of the 
stone age, and born into a world of elemental strife, with no in- 
struments of use or defense, save his own ingeniously constructed 
hands and feet, (so constructed by "natural selection,") he con- 
tended as best he could against the elements and the animals for 
the preservation of his life and the care of liis offspring. 

As necessity required, he invented implements of industry 
and warfare. The hand and the tongue kept pace with each other- 
As his reason developed, his occupations and implements in- 
creased, and his language became enriched. 

From this lowly condition, in which all his energies were 
taxed in the struggle for existence, he has progressed by slow and 
tedious steps through long periods of time up to his present mag- 
nificent attainments. In the course of this development the 
sentiment we call religion was evolved in man. 

Two dominant forces, namely, nature and society, constantly 
operating on his mental organism, produced in him mental and 
moral traits, such as memory, consciousness, conscience, sympa- 
thy, love, fear, hope, courage, wonder, and a feeling of dependence. 

The genesis of his religions must, therefore, be traced to these 
two sources, the iiijiuence of mankind over man, and the influence 
of nature over man. The first produced in him love of offspring, 
fear of the strong, Jear of death, and belief in ghosts, which was 
the foundation of ancestral worship. 

Ancestral zvorship was the great fountain-head of allt he poly- 
theisms, monotheisms and anthropomorphic religions. 

Ancestral worship, fear of the dead, and belief in ghosts among 
our remote ancestors, were the prolific sources of the doctrine of 
metempsychosis, idol worship, strange customs of burying the 
dead, descriptions of the condition of souls in the spirit land, holy 
books, holy times and places, miracles, prophecies, oracles, witch- 
craft, trial by ordeal, saints, holy ghosis, gods, devils, angels, and 
indeed all the doctrines and dramatis personse of the theological 
stage. Of course, as man improved his condition and became 
enlightened, these religions were refined and elevated from a 
■crude fetishism to the worship of a Supreme Spiritual Being, but 
of course with many imperfections and anthropomorphic notions 
still clinging to their conceptions of Him. We have briefly al- 
luded to the great stream of religion which took its rise in man's 
injluence over man, and which has flowed down through human 
history, blessing and cursing mankind. Refining as man refined, 
and reverting to the ancestral type whenever and in the degree 
that man degenerated. 

Let us now turn and glance at that other original source and 
fountain-head of religion, namely, the influence of nature over man. 
These religions are properly called natural religions, while those 
■o{ the ghostly order are denominated anti-natural or supernatural 

religions. The leading religions of this order may be classed by 
their generic names as follows, viz. : Fetishism, Zootheism, 
Polytheism, Monotheism, Theism. Of course, Judaism, Christi- 
anity and Mahometanism belong to this great order. The relig- 
ions, or as some prefer to call them the philosophies, derived from 
nature ivorshif, are usually denominated Atheism, Pantheism, 
Paganism, Deism, Agnosticism, Monism. This is by no means 
intended to be a complete list of the great religions, but only a 
few of the important ones. The great and venerable super- 
natural religions, with their immemorial memories, their tradi- 
tional worship of a man-like deity, their dogmas of a fallen world, 
of a place of salvation, of a personal devil, of a hell of burning brim- 
stone, and a ten by twelve heaven, are destined to lose their hold 
over the human mind. They certainly can claim the past, but 
Vr^e future is less secure. 

Scientific pantheism, with the accent on the second syllable, is 
coming forward with its claims of a natural religion, based on 
scientific principles, to contest the future with its great and ancient 
antagonist. It already has a great following of devoted wor- 
shipers outside, and many inside of churches. It holds that all 
men are more or less religious by virtue of their organizations, 
and that all are immortal and may be happy if they will obey the 
conditions of their being and the laxvs of nature. 

Some think religion is only an emotion of fear and ignorance, 
and one of the incidents in man's evolution, and will some time be 
outgrown and eliminated. I think otherwise. Man inherits a 
sentiment of religion, which may be cultivated and improved by 
proper surroundings, the same as any other emotion. Science or 
knowledge of the universe will never destroy or eradicate man's 
admiration of the works of nature. Indeed, I should rather sup- 
pose that a scientific knowledge of the universe would enhance 
man's feelings of the true, the good, the beautiful, the sublime, the 
sentiments of love of God and love of man — in fine, his relig- 
ious emotions. The child, the Indian, has these emotions to some 
degree; the man of thought, of culture and great attainments, to 
a much greater degree. Man, always environed by the same uni- 
verse, I cannot see how he will outgrow the religious sentiments 
and emotions which it inspires; his notions of religion will refine 
as he refines, but the intellect or the reason will never annihilate 
the emotions. 

Crude notions of religion have indeed been entertained by 
great men from the time of Menu and Moses, down through the 
ages to the present time; but modern science, the hand-maid of 
Monistic philosophy and Pantheistic religion, is leading men to 
clearer and sublimer visions of the universe, and consequently to 
purer emotions, a grander conception of God, and a more enlight- 
ened worship. 

Whoever will take the pains to investigate the religious his- 
tory of the world, will find, I think, after sifting and analysing a 
good deal of the rubbish of history, two great conceptions of relig- 
ion, which are often found united. But however commingled 
they may be, in this or that form of literature or worship, they 
will on a final analysis be found to have distinctive characteristics. 

One inculcates an anti-natural religion, a dualistic philo- 
sophy, and the worship of a supernatural God outside of nature, 
by and through some god-man or holy book, all for the avowed 
purpose of escaping from a present fallen condition and a future 
inferno, an evil doom of unimaginable horrors. 

The other system inculcates a natural religion, a monistic philo- 
sophy, the purest humanities without intolerance or superstition, 
and the adoration of an infinite Divine Intelligence; through na- 
ture pure and simple, because it is a joy and a beatitude to thus 
commune with the source of All Being. With such a religion as 
this, which has not to be authenticated by prophecies and miraclesi 
science is in accord and needs no reconciliation. 

Pantheism has come down to us mainly through Aryan 




sources. From Indian or Hindoo Brahminism, through the Magi 
of Persia, through the Greek and Roman mythologies and philo- 
sophies and through Arabian and European literature and science 
of the Middle Ages to Ms f resent form. Anthropotlicism has come 
to us chiefly through the Semilk races and languages. 

From Assyrian idolatry through Judaism, Mahometanism 
and Trinitarian Christianity. These great religions have built 
temples and tombs, mosques and monasteries, castles and cathe- 
•drals, and dedicated them to the worship of their several deities. 
They have maintained wars at the command of their gods — con- 
ducted pilgrimages and crusades, overrun and conquered countries, 
and established powerful governments and systems of worship. 

They have encouraged superstition, persecuted heresy, op- 
posed progress, science and philosophy. Maintained a priesthood 
that inculcated dogmas, miracles and oracles, and taught the peo- 
ple to abjure the joys and pleasures of life; to hate the face of 
nature, to mourn and weep; to look away from the earth and to- 
■ward the skies for comfort and consolation. 

Let us now turn from the past and view the present and the 
prospect. Scientific Theism or Modern Pantheism with its doctrine 
of an organic and dynamic cosmos permeated with divine life, love, 
/ind intelligence is coming forward, backed by the best minds of 
the age and claiming our attention and our devotion. 

In philosophy it is monistic, optimistic, scientific, and in 
accord with the great theory of Evolution and Modern Art, learn- 
ing and civilization. 

In religion it is eclectic and cosmopolitan — it gathers and 
gleans the good and true from every system. It inculcates all 
the sweet humanities, all the virtues and moralities, and worships 
a divinity of infinite and ineffable glory, who floods the soul of 
«very man with his love and presence as the light and heat of the 
morning sun fills all our dwellings with its eff"ulgent rays. 

Liberal Unitarian Christianity is the best organized exponent 
of these views in this country. But there is as yet no adequately 
organized expression of this rising religion. It exists in the ex- 
pressed and unexpressed thoughts and feelings of our greatest 
and best men and women inside and outside of the Christian 
•churches ; in literature, in science, art, philosophj-, and in com- 
mon every-day life. 

The church of ihe future is being evolved from elements inside 
and outside the great Christian church of the present, and when 
it comes, as come it will, it will be broad enough and grand enough 
to recognize and receive the true, and the good, and the beautiful 
•wherever found. It will be a religion that will welcome and re- 
ceive the sanction and support of the Humboldts, the Huxleys, 
and the Darwins of science; the Spinozas and Spencers of philo- 
sophy ; the Goethes and Shakespeares of poetry ; the Carlyles, 
the Victor Hugos and Emersons of literature; and the Beechers 
and IngersoUs of oratory. Such a religion will of necessity be 
founded on a uniziersal science and art, a universal human brother- 
Jiood, and one universal divinity. W. W. Richmond. 

Sir — In looking over The Open Court I have only just now 
noticed on page 719, the remarks on probation. Gail Hamilton 
■seems to strike right and left and all around. Yet she does not 
touch the question, only her idea of probation. Suppose we substi- 
tute the word obedience for probation, and consider that the power 
-which has given laws to the universe requires obedience in all 
things and all creatures ; obedience in the storm-cloud and in the 
sunshine; in the forming of a snowflake and of a dewdrop; in the 
running brook and in Niagara; obedience in all growth and all 
activity; in health and in disease; obedience to the laws which 
govern men in their physical, intellectual, and ethical relations; — 
■would such a change of word be a repudiation of the grand 
truth latent in probation and patent in obedience.' Now, in fact, 

myriads who are loyal to law understand just this by the use of 
that word. And that if creatures, having self volition, persist in 
disobeying the laws of their being, not even "the All " of nature 
can save them from its consequences. The Christian religion 
offers a Redeemer who has ransomed the erring, but neither 
Christianity nor naturalism can ransom that or those who persist 
in disobedience to the laws which govern them. 

Another of your contributors prefers to use " the All " for 
God. Well, let him for our purpose. Let him Anglicise the 
Greek to Txixv; let him become a Brahmin or a Buddhist. This 
cannot change the fact of the existence and supremacy of Deity, 
of something or some One in the government of our world, that 
makes for righteousness. For use what words we may, there is 
some power in nature which makes for righteousness. Ethics are 
but the eternal laws which He has established. Wherefore, if 
righteousness, right living, right thinking, right aspiration, be the 
law of our being, that power cannot approve, nor be blended with 
wrong aspirations, thinking and living in any one. Hence men 
exclude themselves from Him, exile themselves from Him, and 
withdraw in their own seclusion of oppugnancy and rebellion. 
Harmony is the nice adjustment of parts to a whole, whatever 
that whole may be. You cannot harmonize right and wrong, 
virtue and vice, loyalty and rebellion. So in nature, so in life, so 
in eternity, which is the continuance of present life, there must 
be harmony ; harmony among the celestials in the divine pres- 
ence ; — as for creators of discord, they are consigned to the abode 
of the devil and his angels. E. Cowley. 

[Rev. E. Cowley is right in saying that " neither Christianity 
nor naturalism can ransom those who persist in disobedience to 
the laws that govern them." As to the idea of evil and the evil 
one we refer to Mr. William Schuyler's poem on page 903 of 
The Open Court. Rev. Cowley's view concerning the fate of 
"the creators of discord" is anthropomorphic, and almost as 
picturesque as Breughel's famous paintings. — Editor.] 

Liverpool, March 25, 18SS. 
To Edward C. Hegeler, Esq., Chicago: 

My Dear Sir — * * * In The Open Court of 
March i, p. 7S6, middle of first column, occurs a distinction which 
I much admire, and which is emphasized by the use of italics.* 

Such is the object of mechanics. But suppose certain phe- 
nomena exhibited residuary motions, not only not accounted for 
by our present treatises on statics and dynamics, but plainly in 
excess or deficiency of results such as might be anticipated, all 
possible corrections having been applied. What then.' Are the 
refractory phenomena to be put out of sight as dangerous to the 
credit of science.' Such discrepancies there are in almost or quite 
all natural laws. But what of that.' Be silent about them, for 
they are odious to men of science, who see in them loop-holes for 
the introduction of the supernatural ! O, most unworthy timidity I 
These discrepancies are only links which join our true, but lower 
laws, -with less known laws of higher systems, yet not super- 
natural, but rising tier above tier in unity and harmony, the very 
highest being as thoroughly in unity with nature as the lowest. 
It is heart-breaking to hear the positivist's loud worship, not of 
the united /cocr/zof, but of his own te.xt-book on science for iSSS. 

Are ive in no danger of ascribing to the monism of the dayi 
beautiful though it be, a perfection to which it never can attain 
whilst its foremost followers assume, even as Haeckel, the attitude 
of invenimus ? It is a childish dread that to step off the platform 
of the monism of the day is to plunge into supernaturalism. He 
is no learner from nature who sees no mystery in her; nay, who 

*The passage mentioned reads as follows: Kirchhoff says: ''Mechanics 
IS the science ot motion. Its object we define to be this: To describe with 
exhaustive thoroughness and the greatest attainable simplicity the motions that 
are taking place in nature." 


does not rejoice in its abundance. It is cruel to add anottier pan- 
acea ! Monism should do better than join the category of infallible 
salvations. It is hard to get a hearing for reverent/;ee thought; 
it seems to offend everybody all round, yet I trust jow will not be 
offended. Believe me your much indebted and grateful corre- 
spondent, Hknry H. Higgins. 

[We do not object to the word "mystery," as Rev. H. H. Hig- 
gins uses it. The world is full of problems, and we rejoice in 
their abundance. We object to the word mystery in its usual 
sense of an inscrutable and incomprehensible secret, which by its 
very nature cannot be known and lies beyond the ken, not only 
of ourselves, but of all possible comprehension. We refer our 
readers to the editorial " Ignoramus and Inveniemus," on page 
903 of this number. — Editor.] 


Mr. William M. Salter will make lecture engagements for the 
month of June. Address 516 North Avenue, Chicago. 

Professor L. Buchner, whose name is well known among the 
free thinkers of all countries, informs us in a private letter that 
since his adult children have left their home, he would be willing 
to receive guests in his house as permanent boarders. His offer 
is an excellent occasion, not only for visitors of Germany who 
would enjoy the company of a profound scholar and a prominent 
scientist in his leisure hours, but also for parents who wish to 
send their children abroad. We must add that the city in which 
Professor Buchner lives has excellent schools. His address is 
Darmstadt, Germany, 14 Holges street. 


Looking Backward — 2000-1887. Edward Bellamy. Boston: 

Ticknor & Co. 

As the author of " Miss Ludington's Sister " and " A Nan- 
tucket Idyl," Mr. Bellamy has won a high rank among modern 
story-writers. In his last work his imagination undertakes the 
enticing but difficult task of describing a possible social state to 
exist at the end and during the progress of a thousand years. It 
is well written and ingenious, besides holding the reader's interest 
by the skill and power of the general plot. The object of the 
book, the author explains with a touch of quiet humor, " is to 
assist persons who, while desiring to gain a more definite idea of 
the social contrasts between the nineteenth and twentieth centu- 
ries, are daunted by the formal aspect of the histories which treat 
of the subject." c. p. w. 

The Popular Science Alonthly for April contains an interesting 
essay by Prof. T. H. Huxley, " The Struggle for Existence : a Pro- 
gramme," in which the famous scientist, in discussing the ques- 
tion of industrial education, expresses his views upon pre-historic 
man as follows : 

" In the cycle of phenomena presented by the life of man, the 
animal, no more moral end is discernible than in that presented 
by the lives of the wolf and of the deer. However imperfect the 
relics of prehistoric men may be, the evidence which they afford 
clearly tends to the conclusion that, for thousands and thousands 
of years, before the origin of the oldest known civilizations, men 
were savages of a very low type. They strove with their 
enemies and their competitors; they preyed upon things 
weaker or less cunning than themselves; they were born, multi- 
plied without stint, and died, for thousands of generations, along- 
side the mammoth, the urus, the lion, and the hyena, whose lives 
were spent in the same way ; and they were no more to be 
praised or blamed, on moral grounds, than their less erect and 
more hairy compatriots. 

"As among these, so among primitive men, the weakest and 
stupidest went to the wall, while the toughest and shrewdest, 

those who were best fitted to cope with their circumstances, but 
not the best in any other sense, survived. Life was a continual 
free fight, and beyond the limited and temporary relations of the 
family, the Hobbesian war of each against all was the norma! 
state of existence. The human species, like others, plashed and 
floundered amid the general stream of evolution, keeping its head 
above water as it best might, and thinking neither of whence nor 

We must add that according to our view Professor Huxley- 
undervalues the import of morality in the struggle for existence. 
Man survived not because of his toughness, or his shrewdness, 
but because of his moral qualities. The antediluvial fox was per- 
haps shrewder, and the lion or bear tougher, than the prehistoric 
savage or man-ape; but they were lacking in the moral faculties 
which bind single individuals together with the ties of love, of 
family and of friendship. Moral feelings, or rather the capacity 
and conditions of the growth of moral feelings, the tendency to- 
reveal moral qualities, made the primitive man sociable. A social 
animal develops more morality than solitary beings, and the 
shrewdness of a social being becomes intelligence. Intelligence 
is more powerful as a weapon in the struggle for existence than 
shrewdness, because it does not lack in morality. Human, 
speech is the product of intelligence and not of shrewdness. 
Man was able to develop speech only because he was moral 
enough to be social, and this morality elevated man above the 
rest of the animal world. Among savage tribes the most in- 
telligent and not the shrewdest survived. It is an undeniable fact 
that in any given district the tribes who were lacking in morality,, 
even when the very shrewdest and toughest, had to go to the wall, 
while in the end the most moral remained victorious. It is a 
wrong historical view to imagine that the Romans conquered the- 
world because they were shrewder, stronger and more ferocious 
than their neighbors. They conquered the woi Id because they 
possessed in addition to strength a rare moral quality — the qual- 
ity of justice. And even their strength was not the physical 
force of a ferocious bull, but the moral strength of courage. 

It will thus be seen that morality affords the power to sur- 
vive, and if the primitive savage was not moral in the present ac- 
ceptation of the word, he was in his time relatively the most 
moral being on earth, and this gave him more strength than, 
toughness or shrewdness could ever afford. 



CHAPTER XIII.— Continued. 

" There is one class of people of whom I am muclt 
afraid," said Use to her husband ; " and that is the students. 
When I was scarcely grown up and on a visit to aii 
aunt, I saw a whole company of them march through 
the gates with their large swords, hats with plumes, and 
velvet coats. They were so wild that I did not venture 
into the streets all that day. If now, as your wife, I 
must have intercourse with these rough men, I shall 
not exactly be afraid of them, but they will make me 

" They are not all so bad," said the Professor, con- 
solingly ; " you will soon get accustomed to them." 

Notwithstanding this. Use awaited the first visit of 
the students with much anxiety. 

It happened that one morning the bell rang just 
when the Professor was detained at the University 




library, and Gabriel and the maid had been sent out. 
Use opened the door herself. A young man whose 
colored cap and black map under his arm proclaimed 
him a student, started back in surprise. He looked quite 
different from what she expected, being without ostrich 
feather or sword, and his face was pale and thin ; yet Use 
felt respect for the learned young man, at the same time 
dreading that the rude nature of his class might suddenly 
break out. She w^as, however, a brave woman and took 
a practical view of the visit. As long as the misfortune 
has come I must be courteous. " You wish to speak to 
my husband; he is not at home at present. Will you 
have the kindness to walk in?" 

The student, a poor philologist who was a candidate 
for a scholarship, was thrown into great alarm at the 
majestic being who stood before him. He made many 
bows and did not venture to refuse. Use took him 
into the parlor, motioned him to an arm-chair and asked 
whether she could be of any service to him. The poor 
wretch became still more embarrassed and Use was also 
infected by his discomfiture. She made an effort, how- 
ever, to begin a conversation, and inquired whether he be- 
longed to the city. This was not the case. From what 
country did he come? she also was a stranger. He proved 
to be from her own province — not indeed close to her 
home, but within ten miles from it; he had, therefore, 
from his earliest youth looked on the same mountains 
and knew the dialect of her country and the voices of 
the birds. Now she moved nearer to him and. made him 
converse, till at last they chatted together like old friends. 
At length Use said : " My husband will perhaps not re- 
turn very soon; I should not like to deprive him of the 
pleasure of seeing you. How would it be, my country- 
man, if you would give us the pleasure of being our 
:guest to dinner next Sunday?" 

Surprised and with expressions of thanks the student 
:arose to take leave and was accompanied to the door by 
Use. But he had been so confused by the adventure that 
Tie had forgotten his portfolio. Again he rang the bell 
diffidently ; again he stood embarrassed at the door and 
with many excuses asked for his portfolio. 

Use was pleased with this meeting and with having 
so well overcome her first difficulty. She called out 
joyfully to her husband when he came to the door, 
" Felix, the first student has been here." 

" Indeed," answered the husband, in no wise dis- 
turbed by the announcement; "what is his name?" 

" I do not know his name, but he wore a red cap 
and said he was not a freshman. I was not at all afraid 
and I asked him to dinner for Sunday." 

"Well," replied the Professor, " if you do that to 
•everyone our house will soon be full." 

" Was it not right?" asked Use, troubled. "I saw 
that he was not one of the principal ones, but I wished, 
on your account, to do too much rather than too little." 

" Never mind," said the Professor; " we will not for- 
get that he was the first one to look into your dear face." 
Sunday came, and with it, at the hour of noon, the 
student, who had on this occasion paid exceptional atten- 
tion to his toilet But Use, observing the demeanor of 
her husband toward the student, maintained a quiet, 
motherly dignity. In accordance with this she gave 
him a second helping of the roast and provided him 
with quantities of vegetables. This kindly treatment 
and several glasses of wine, the last of which was poured 
out by Use, strengthened the heart of the student and 
raised him above the petty things of earthly life. After 
dinner the Professor conversed with the Doctor on some 
learned subjects. But Use kindly kept up a conversa- 
tion with the young gentleman and put him so much at 
his ease that he began to speak of his family affairs. 
Then the student became confiding and pathetic and 
began some very sorrowful disclosures. In the first 
place, naturally, that he had no money ; then he ventured 
to add the painful confession of a tender attachment for 
the daughter of a lawyer who lived in the same house 
with him, and whom he had secretly worshiped for a 
whole year and expressed it in poetry. But at last the 
father interposed; he, with a tyranny peculiar to magis- 
trates, forbade the acceptance of the poems by his 
daughter and contrived to remove the student from the 
house. Since that time the heart of the student had 
been an abyss of despair; no longer did any poem — they 
were sonnets — penetrate to the secluded beloved one. 
Nay, he even had grounds to believe that she too 
despised him ; for she attended balls, and only the pre- 
vious evening he had seen her with flowers in her hair 
alighting from her father's carriage at a brilliantly lighted 
house. Sorrowfully he had stood at the door of the 
house among the spectators; but she had glided past 
him smiling and beaming. Now he wandered about in 
despair and alone, weary of his life and full of dismal 
thoughts, concerning which he gave gloomy intimations. 
Finally, he asked Use's permission to send her these 
poems which expressed the condition of his heart. Use, 
of course, consented, with expressions of sincere com- 

The student took his leave and the next morning Use 
received a package with a very respectful letter, by post, 
in which he excused himself for not sending her all 
the poetical pieces which would place his misfortune in 
the right light, as he had not copies of them ready. En- 
closed with them was a sonnet to Use herself, very 
tender and full of reverence, in which it was clearly the 
secret intention of the student to make Use the mistress 
of his dreams in the place of his unfaithful love. 

Use, somewhat embarrassed, laid this enclosure on 
the writing-table of her husband. 

" If I have done wrong, Felix, tell me." 

The Professor laughed. 


" I will send him back his poem myself; that will 
cool his ardor. You know now that it is dangerous to 
receive the confidence of a student. The poems, by the 
way, are poorer than need be." 

" Thus I have had a lesson," said Use, " which I 
have brought upon myself; for the future I will be 
more cautious." 

But she could not so easily banish the recollection of 
the student. 

Every afternoon, when the weather was favorable. 
Use went at the same hour with her husband to the 
adjacent wood. The happy couple sought out lonely 
by-paths where the branches were more thickly inter- 
twined and the green carpet beneath contrasted gaily 
with the yellow leaves. Then Use thought of the trees 
on her father's estate; and the conversation with her 
husband always reverted to her father, brothers and 
sisters and to the latest news she had had from home. 
In the meadow which extended from the last buildings of 
the town to the wood there stood a bench under a large 
bush; from there could be seen the hostile houses in the 
foreground and behind them-the gables and towers of 
the city. When Use came upon the place the first time, 
she was pleased at the sight of her own windows and 
the surrounding gloomy towers, and it led her to think 
of the seat in the cave from which she had so often 
looked on her father's house; she sat down on the 
bench, drew out the letters which she had just received 
from her brothers and sisters, and read to her husband 
the simple sentences in which they reported the latest 
events on the estate. From that time forth this became 
her favorite resting-place, as she and her husband bent 
their steps homeward. 

The day after the reception of the student's package, 
on arriving at the bench, she saw a small nosegay lying 
on it; she picked it up with curiosity; a delicately folded 
note of rose-colored paper was appended to it, with this 
inscription: " A greeting from B." After this as many 
stars as there were letters in the name of her father's 
country-place. Surprised, she handed the note to the 
Professor. He opened it and read these unpretentious 

The little dwarf in his stone-built bower, 

Has written the ryhme on this card. 
He sends from your father's home a flower, 
With his heart-felt, most cordial regard. 

" That is meant for you," he said, in astonishment. 

"How delightful!" exclaimed Use. 

" The ' dwarf must certainly be a joke of the Doc- 
tor," decided the Professor; "truly, he has well dis- 
guised his handwriting." 

Use, delighted, pinned on the nosegay. 

" When the Doctor comes this evening he shall not 
find out that we have discovered him." 

The Professor dilated upon the droll idea of his 

friend and Use, who before had looked upon the Doc- 
tor with secret distrust, heartily agreed. 

But when, in the evening, the Doctor feigned the 
greatest nonchalance, he was jestingly scolded for his 
art of dissimulation and loaded with thanks. When, 
however, he firmly declared that the nosegay and verse 
did not come from him, fruitless discussion arose as to 
the author, and the Professor began to look very serious. 

A few days later the offering in the wood was re- 
peated; another nosegay lay on the bench with the 
same address and a verse. Again did Use endeavor 
gently to maintain that there had been collusion on the 
part of the Doctor, but the Professor rejected that and 
put the rose-colored note in his pocket. Use took the 
nosegay with her, but this time did not place it in her 
girdle. When the Doctor came the adventure was 
again discussed. 

" It can be no one but the little student," said Use, 
much distressed. 

" That I fear, also," said the Professor, and related 
to the Doctor Use's annoyance at the confidential package 
from the son of the muses. " Harmless as the thing ap- 
pears in itself, it still has a serious aspect. These addresses 
imply close watching, which is anything but agreeable, 
and such activity and assiduity may lead the adorer to 
still greater daring. He must be checked. I will en- 
deavor to-morrow to convince him of his error." 

" And if he should deny the act," interposed the 
Doctor. "You should at least make this impossible. 
As the nosegay has escaped the observation of others 
passing by, it has probably been laid there the last 
moment before your appearance, which would not be 
difficult to do, as you always pass at the same hour. 
We must endeavor to surprise the daring man." 

" I will go alone to-morrow," said the Professor. 

"You ought not to watch a student in the wood," 
said the Doctor, decidedly. " Besides, if your wife re- 
mains at home the nosegay will probably not lie on the 
bench. Leave the affair to me. Go out as usual to- 
morrow and the following days and I shall watch the 
place from some other point." 

This being settled, the Professor took both the small 
nosegays from the glass and threw them out of the 

On the following day, a quarter of an hour before his 
friends started, the Doctor went to the wood, disguised in 
a grey coat and dark hat, in order to fall upon the pre- 
sumptuous versifier from his hiding-place; he under- 
took to chastise the offender so that the Professor would 
be spared any personal interference. He found a good 
place just opposite the bench, where the dense beech 
foliage would conceal the hunter from his game. There 
he placed himself in a good position, drew a large opera- 
glass from his pocket and fixed his eyes incessantly 
on the bench in question. The bench was still empty; 



the few pedestrians passed it by with indifference; the 
time seemed long; the Doctor looked for half an hour 
through the glasses, so that his eyes began to ache, but 
he persevered. His place was well chosen; the offender 
could not escape. Suddenly, just as his eyes accidentally 
glanced toward Herr Hummel's house, he saw the gar- 
den gate open ; something dark passed out between the 
trees and came toward the bench out of the thicket, 
looked cautiously round, passed by the bench and dis- 
appeared again among the trees and through the hostile 
garden gate. An expression of infinite astonishment 
was depicted on the countenance of the Doctor; he 
closed his opera-glass and laughed quietly to himself; 
then directed the glasses again, peering after the 
vanished figure; shook his head and fell into deep 
thought. He listened and heard the quiet steps of two 
promenaders. The Professor and Use came out of 
the wood ; they stopped a few steps from the bench 
and looked at the fatal nosegay which lay there so 
innocently. The Doctor burst out from the copse, 
laughing, took up the nosegay, and, offering it to Use, 

" It is not the student." 

" Who then?" asked the Professor, uneasily. 

"That I cannot tell," replied the Doctor; "but 
the affair is harmless — the nosegay is from a lady." 

"Seriously?" asked the Professor. 

" You may depend upon it," replied Fritz, convin- 
cingly. " It is from some one whom we both know 
and your wife need not hesitate to accept the greetings. 
It is given with the best intentions." 

" Have the townspeople so many verses and secrets?" 
asked Use, curiously, taking the flowers with a light 

Again there was guessing: they could not find any 
one on whom they could fix it. 

" I am glad that the mystery is thus solved," said 
the Professor; " but tell your poetess that such missives 
might easily fall into bad hands." 

"I have no influence over her," replied the Doctor; 
" but whatever may have put it into her head to do this, 
it will not always remain a secret." 

At last came the long-wished-for hour in which 
Laura was to have a private meeting with the dis- 
tinguished stranger, as Use up to this day was designated 
in the private memoirs. Her mother had gone out 
when Use entered the sitting-room to ask a household 
question. Laura gave the information, gained courage 
and at last ventured to request that Use would go with 
her into the garden. There they sat together under the 
last rays of an October sun and interchanged opinions 
concerning the boat, the Chinese temple and the passers- 
by. Finally, Laura respectfully took Use's hand and 
drew her into a corner of the garden in order to show 
her a great rarity — the abandoned nest of a hedge-spar- 

row. The birds had long flown away and the remains 
of the nest still hung on the half-bare branches. 

" Here they were," cried Laura, impressively ; 
"charming little creatures; there were five speckled 
eggs there and they reared their little ones successfully. 
I was in mortal terror all this time on account of the 
cats that prowl about here." 

" You have never lived in the country," said Use. 
People here in the city are delighted if they can only 
keep one poor little sparrow in their garden. At home 
they chirruped, sang and flew about in all the trees; and 
unless there was something unusual about one of them, 
one took no particular notice of them. Here each little 
creature is valued and cared for, even the sparrows. The 
first morning I was here I was shocked at the sight of 
these poor creatures ; they are not to be compared to their 
brothers in the country, their feathers are so bristly and 
uneven, and their whole bodies are black and sooty, like 
charcoal-burners. I would gladly have taken a sponge 
to wash the whole lot." 

" It would be of no use ; they would become black 
again," said Laura, despondingly. " It is caused by the 
soot in the gutters." 

" Does one become so dusty and is one so roughly han- 
dled in the city ? That is sad. It is certainly much more 
beautiful in the country." As Use softly acknowledged 
this, her eyes moistened involuntarily with the thought 
of the distant woody hills. '' I am only a stranger here," 
she added, more cheerfully. " The city would be very 
pleasant if there were not so many people; they annoy 
me with their staring, whenever I go out alone." 

" I will accompany you if you like," said Laura, de- 
lighted; " I shall always be ready." 

This was a kind offer and was thankfully accepted. 
Laura, in her great joy, ventured to ask Use to go with her 
into her private room. They ascended to the upper story. 
There the little sofa, the ivy screen, the shepherd and shep- 
herdess, were duly admired, and finally the new piano. 

"Will you play something for me?" asked Use, 
" I cannot play at all. We had an old piano but I 
learnt only a few tunes from my dear mother for the 
children to dance to." 

Laura took a piece of music, the first leaf of which 
was beautifully ornamented with gilded elves and lilies, 
and played the " Elfin Waltz," secretly trembling, but 
with great execution; and she explained, laughingly, 
and shaking her black locks, the passages where the 
spirits came fluttering in and mysteriously chattered 
together. Use was highly delighted. 

" How quickly your little fingers fly," she said, re- 
garding Laura's delicate hand with admiration. " See 
how large my hand is in comparison and how hard the 
skin — that comes from doing housework." 

Laura looked entreatingly at her. " If I might only 
hear you sing." 



"I can sing nothing but hymns and some old country 

" Oh, do sing them," begged Laura. " I will en- 
deavor to accompany you." 

Use began an old melody and Laura tried a modest 
accompaniment and listened with transport to the rich 
sound of Use's voice; she felt her heart tremble under 
the swelling tones and ventured to join in the last verse. 

After this she searched for a song which was known 
to both, and, when they succeeded tolerably in singing 
together, Laura clapped her hands enthusiastically, and 
they determined to practice some easy songs in order to 
surprise the Professor. 

In the course of conversation Use confessed that she 
had seldom heard a concert, and occasionally when visit- 
ing in the neighborhood, had seen a play, but only one 

" The piece was called the Freischiitz" said Use ; 
"the heroine was the forester's daughter, and she had 
a friend just as merry, with beautiful locks and frank 
eyes like yours; and the man whom she loved lost his 
faith in the gracious protection of heaven, and in order 
to obtain the girl he denied God and surrendered him- 
self to the Evil One. That was fearful; her heart be- 
came heavy and a foreboding came over her; but she 
did not lose her strength of mind, nor her trust in help 
from above; and her faith saved her lover, over whom 
the Evil One had already stretched out his hand." 

Then she accurately described the whole course of 
the action. 

" It was enchanting," she said. " I was very young, 
and when I came back to our lodging I could not com- 
pose myself and my father was obliged to scold me." 

Laura listened, sitting on a footstool at Use's feet; 
she held her hand fast and heard her account as a little 
child listens to a tale she already knows. 

" How well you describe it; 'tis as if one was reading 
a poem." 

" Ah, no," exclaimed Use, shaking her head; "this 
compliment is just what I do not in the least deserve. I 
have never in my life made a verse and I am so pro- 
saic that I do not know how my unpolished nature will 
adapt itself to the town, for here they write verses; they 
hum about in the air like flies in summer." 

"What do you mean?" asked Laura, hanging her 

" Only think, even I, a stranger, have received 

"That is quite natural," said Laura, folding her 
handkerchief in order to conceal her confusion. 

" I have found little nosegays on the bench in the 
park, with dear little poems, and the name of my home 
given by a letter and stars. See, first a large B, and 
then " 

Laura, in her delight at this account, looked up from 

her handkerchief; her cheeks were suffused with color; 
there was a roguish smile in her eyes. 

Use looked at the beaming countenance and, as she 
spoke, guessed that she was the giver. 

Laura bent down to kiss her hand, but Use raised 
her curly head, threatening her with her finger and 
kissing her. 

" You are not angry with me," said Laura, " for 
being so bold?" 

" It was very sweet and kind of you, but you must 
know that it caused us a great deal of uneasiness; the 
Doctor discovered you, but he did not tell us your name." 

" The Doctor?" exclaimed Laura, starting up. " Must 
he always interfere everywhere!" 

" He kept your secret faithfully. Now I may tell 
my husband all about it, may I not? but, between our- 
selves, he was very much displeased for a time." 

This was a triumph for Laura. Again she seated 
herself at Use's feet and archly begged her to relate 
what the Professor had said. 

" That would not be right," answered Use, gravely; 
" that is his secret." 

( Ji? be continued.) 




EDWARD C. HEGELER, President, DR. PAUL CARUS, Editor. 

The Open Court is devoted to the work of conciliating Relig-ion with 
Science. The founder and editor have found this conciliation in Monism— to 
present and defend which is the main object of The Open Court. 

The Open Court has for contributors the leading thinkers of the old 
and new world. 

Translations from the most prominent authors of Europe have been pro- 
cured, and efforts are made to present the very best and most advanced thought 
bearing on scientific, religious, social and economic questions. 


All communications should be addressed to 


P. 0, DRAWER F. (Nixon Bldg., 175 La Salle St.) CHICAGO, ILL. 

Contents of No. 34. 


PHYSIOLOGY. By Felix L. Oswald, M.D. Part V. 895 

TER. By J. G. VoGT. Part III 897 

AN ENGLISH MONIST. By Xenos Clark 899 

MAKING SCARCITY. By Wheelbarrow 901 




The Birth of Satan. By William Schuyler 903 


Conciliation of Religion with Science. By W. W. Rich- 
mond 903 

Obedience and Judgment. By E. Cowley 90a 

Object of Mechanics. By Henry H. Higgins 905 

NOTES 906 


Looking Backward — 2000-1887. Edward Bellamy. 906 
The Struggle for Existence: a Programme. Prof. T. 
H. Huxley 906 


The Lost Manuscript. {Continued.) Gustav Freytag 906 

The Open Court 


Devoted to the Work of Conciliating Religion ^A^ith Science. 

No. 35. (Vol. II.— 9.) 

CHICAGO, APRIL 26, 1888. 

I Two Dollars per Year. 
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The discussion opened by D. Theophilus seems to 
me to be so vitally important that it should not be al- 
lowed to rest. Is he correct in the general statement of 
facts? Let me number them so as to cover, to at least 
n just degree, the scope of the able essay : 

(i.) There is no warrant for the statement that there 
is no antagonism between science and religion, which 
involves that there is an essential antagonism between 
religion and science. 

{2.) Wherever and whenever in the world's history 
there arose a science, distinctively formulated, it invari- 
ably and inevitably clashed with religion. 

(3.) With the scholastics originated the idea of recon- 
ciling religion and science. 

(4.) Having by means of scholasticism won a posi- 
tion, science was not long in claiming for itself the sole 
authority over the nature of knowledge. 

(5.) The fall of scholasticism led to a separation of 
•science and religion (once more). 

(6.) All subsequent efforts at reconciliation have 
failed in like manner. 

(7.) Religion is not an ultimate fact of human 
nature. It is not a fact for Strauss. 

(S.) Religion rests on a belief or a knowledge con- 
cerning an object, intelligent and supreme, analogous to 
the human, a personality possessing a will and power to 
control human destiny, and other than nature. With 
this is conjoined an emotion of fear, awe, love, etc., fol- 
lowed by acts of worship. 

(9.) Such was the idea of religion to all minds until 
the present century ; and only of late has there been an 
endeavor to seek some other foundation in human con- 
sciousness than the old one. 

(10.) This effort is futile, for religion rests on dualism 
and postulates an anthropomorphic God as an indis- 
pensable condition of its existence. 

(11.) The Infinite, the All, etc., fail to give meaning 
and life to religion. People would be as likely to wor- 
ship the All as they would a tomcat or an Egyptian 
mummy. " Banish dualism from your head, and religion 
will necessarily vacate the heart." 

This is, I believe, a just and complete summary of 
his argument, placed in such a form that it can be dealt 
with without confusion. It matters not what may be 

the purport of this argument, whether to defend dual- 
ism or to undermine monism, or neither. I believe it 
involves erroneous statements of facts; but more vitally 
erroneous conceptions of the relations and bearings of 
facts. Inaccuracy of definition is also not absent, not- 
withstanding an apparent effort at demanding precision 
of others. The trend of science has of late been so posi- 
tively constructive of a monistic theology, or logic of the 
universe, vital as well as material, psychical as well as 
physical, that the assertions of this essay cannot be justly 
or wisely overlooked. Especially does monism find it 
essential to take up the glove at the declaration that 
dualism is the only basis for religious sentiment. Had 
the statement rested at the affirmation that some modi- 
fication of anthropomorphism seems essential to any con- 
ception of a lovable and worshipable being, the chal- 
lenge might have been overlooked, as comparatively 
non-essential. But we must have, it appears, not only 
anthropomorphism in perception, but dualism in con- 

Not, however, in any way to anticipate the points 
made, let us begin with No. i : " There is an essential 
antagonism between religion and science." On the con- 
trary no religion exists to-day, or ever did exist, which 
was not essential science. Involved in the earliest 
phases of religion were the scientific conceptions of the 
day. The Vedas are full of it. Egyptian religion was 
an explanation of the universe. About 2000 B. C. the 
whole Brahmanic and Zendavistic theology had taken 
shape. Its basis was science; its development was 
ritual of service and worship. The creation is not an 
accidental beginning of the Hebrew Scriptures, it is the 
very core and soul of the whole Hebrew and Christian 
faith. The explanation of things, the How and Why 
of the universe is the essential starting point of faith; 
and faith never escapes its originating impulse. The 
New Testament exists because of the Old. Man was 
made by God; we fell from righteousness; hence the 
need of a Redeemer; and so you get the whole scheme 
of salvation. Remove the science at the foundation, and 
the system topples at once. The believer must stand by 
Adam and the Creator extra naturam, or he will have to 
give up his atonement and his heaven and hell. This 
is true in essential measure of all religions known. 
Cause was the one all-demanding problem; the cause 
of what appeared ; and above all the final cause. The 



sum of all theology, and the basis of all religious senti- 
ment is to-day the cause of causes — the final cause — the 

With point No. 2 we need not so essentially clash, 
"that wherever and whenever in the world's history 
there arose a science, distinctively formulated, it invari- 
ably and inevitably clashed with religion." But very 
plainly the bearing of this statement is wholly reversed 
by what we have stated under No. i. The conflict is 
inevitable, because the rise of a new science is in the face 
of an existing science. A science, involving theology, 
being in the field, any new science or evolution of science 
must conflict with it. So, then, our new statement is, 
that there is a conflict between two sciences. If you 
can possibly invent a science absolutely involving no 
doctrine of causes, or cause, or cause of causes, you will 
have not the least conflict with theology. But this is 
impossible. Each and every increment of scientific 
knowledge modifies our ideas of causality. So that the 
theologian of to-day is compelled to say it is our final 
duty " to push the cause of causes as far back in nature 
as possible." But monistic science, that is, the science of 
evolution, pushes him out altogether. Let us look over 
history. The Vedic or Brahman in evolution was a 
new scientific outlook, and we have evidence of a fierce 
conflict back there, 2000 B. C, among our Aryan 
fathers in Central Asia — a struggle that reached out and 
involved to the west, the Shemites. About 1500 B. C. 
occurred another great evolution, that which gave to the 
world the Mosaic code, the laws of Manu, and the laws 
of Tschon in China. But this was an unfolding of law^ 
or a codification of morals, and hence there arose no 
conflict whatever. Religion endures new moral front- 
ages; but to new scientific frontages it takes affront. 
1000 B. C. was a marked moral evolution of Homeric and 
Davidic song, but no new science. The old was sung 
into rich spiritual life among the Shemites; and into 
poetic softening of brute force conflict among the Aryans. 
But 500 B. C. was the age of Buddha, Confucius and 
Socrates. At the great centers of civilizations science 
promulgated new views of the universe, and they could 
stand only by the downfall of the old system of cause 
and causes. The old Gods were assailed not as religious 
beings, but as scientific causes. " Are there 30,000 
Gods?" they asked of Buddha. If there are let them 
alone, was the essential reply. Confucius and Socrates 
gave almost identical answers in spirit. 

I might trace the same historic periodicity of evolu- 
tion, and show that at well rounded periods since Jesus, 
knowledge has accumulated, so as to confront the old 
science with a new system of explanations. These evo- 
lutions culminated in battles of the orthodox old with 
the heretical new. About 500 A. D. came the culmina- 
tion in a Papal power; 1000, in the absolute Hierarchy. 
But about 1500 the seething of new facts and a widen- 

ing outlook caused the great struggle of the Reforma- 
tion. Was this a simple struggle of theologies, or the 
ritualistic outgrowth of sciences? You will find it was 
no such thing. Calvinism is a reconstructed science, and 
logic of asserted scientific facts. The Westminster Cate- 
chism, and all other Calvinistic fulminations, are efforts 
to explain the universe and man as the thing of a Crea- 
tor. That the present struggle is not one of science with 
theology is certain; but it is a confronting of cosmologies 
and geologies and anthropologies, and only therefore of 
theologies. It is simply a question whether we are 
bound to believe the scientific conceptions of 2000 and 
of 4000 years ago, or those of to-day, — the latest re- 
search; and whether our worship should be of a Being 
implied in primitive science, or of Being as implied in 
modern science. 

But ( 3) " with the scholastics originated the idea of 
reconciling religion and science." This is to ignore all 
the struggle of the Jewish Rabbis before Jesus, of the 
Greek philosophers, of the Buddhistic school of com- 
mentators. The facts are that each great unfolding of 
science (religion) has led to a school of reconciliation j 
and history has been everywhere as full of the pacifica- 
tions as of the conflicts; the harmonizing as the antag- 
onizing. Of course the unfolding of cosmology that 
began with the heliocentric conception of the universe, 
was such a revolution, that from Galileo down it was 
more and more evident that the old cosmology must 
perish or compromise. The Mosaic days expanded, 
and Yahweh's sabbatic rest was broken, until there 
was nothing left but a din of clashing arms. Was it 
science against theology ? It was modern science bat- 
tling with ancient science, and the voices of reconcilers 
piped over the field of battle like bobolinks over a charge 
of cavalry. 

The fourth point amounts simply to this, that the 
new or heliocentric cosmology began to win its way. 
No. 5 asserts that the scholastic harmonizers yielded 
the field essentially. No. 6 asserts that later and more 
scholarly efforts at reconciliation, such as that of Dr. 
Chalmers and Hugh Miller, with that of Dr. McCosh, 
and " orthodox evolutionists " have failed. 

No. 7 demands our next serious consideration. 
"Religion is not an ultimate fact of human nature." At 
this point it is quite essential to do what I have avoided 
heretofore, define religion. In the article of Theophilus. 
there is a confusion in the use of this very all-important 
word. It is used at one time to include historic theology; 
at another, to cover only the rational sentiment or feeling^ 
that follows theological belief. If by religion is meant 
the former, that is, historic theology (that is, science ap- 
plied to cause and causes), it is clear that every mind 
must have a religion; and Strauss is no more an excep- 
tion than Talmage. Indeed, in proportion as a brain 
is logical, cultured and informed, it must have the 



religion of causality. Talmage in that sense hasnot one- 
millionth part the religion of Strauss, or Renan, or 
Thomas Jefferson, or Count Cavour, or John Stuart 
Mill. But if by religion is meant the sentiment of 
honor, awe, reverence, or worship that arises in a well 
informed mind, then again religion is an ultimate fact of 
human nature. For I take it Theophilus will not 
deny that when a Persian kissed his hand to a star, 
he had an emotion, growing out of his knowledge of the 
universe, toward the cause, or cause of causes, involved. 
The implication that this ultimate fact is outgrown by 
any one is disposed of when you come to a correct defini- 
tion of religion. The only fact (ultimate or otherwise) 
outgrown, is the childish methods of expressing feeling. 
No. 8 is Theophilus's own effort at a definition of 
religion; that is, " it is a belief or a knowledge concern- 
ing an object, intelligent and supreme, analogous to the 
human, a personality possessing a will and power to 
control human destiny; — and other than nature; — con- 
joined with an emotion of fear, love, etc. ; followed by 
acts of worship." This is simply a very rigid descrip- 
tion of the dualistic conception of a Being extra-natural, 
such as might be very nearly given by Cardinal New- 
man or Professor Diman. It does not rest with saying 
religion is a belief in a cause or cause of causes; but it 
goes on to such a definition of religion that we are driven 
to the conviction that Socrates, Buddha, and the ancients 
in general, had no religion at all — so far as they were 
not monotheists. This no one should grant. Religion 
is rather, so far as knowledge is concerned (or belief), 
the conception any mind may have of cause in the uni- 
verse, or above the universe. His assertion that such 
belief is followed by emotions stands true. No. 9 af- 
firms that " this historic interpretation of religion has 
never been questioned until the present century, and 
that only of late has there been an endeavor to seek 
some other foundation in human consciousness, which 
science cannot undermine." So far as this is intended 
to be a denial of any attempt to escape dualism, until al- 
most the present date, it is to overlook Lucretius and 
Aristotle and Spinoza and the early Kant (the real 
Kant); but it is not in bounds to discuss this statement. 
We are concerned mainly with Nos. 10 and 11, which 
assert the utter futility of any effort to escape dualism 
without a total wreckage of religion. Certainly The- 
ophilus does not mean that we cannot either know or 
believe concerning the universe, and its phenomena and 
causes, or causality in general, without dualism. At 
least our modern knowledge is monistic. That is, the 
primal fundamental thought of modern knowledge is 
unity of the universe. Except for theological purposes 
men of information have wholly given over all thought 
or speech of nature, except as one, — the universe, the 
absolute unit. Science and philosophy alike, and in com- 
mon with our humblest household talk, considers practi- 

cally an infinite universe, involving all of causality in 
itself. I do not mean that dualism is dead ; but it has no 
longer any part in the growing conception of nature. 
The revelations of the spectroscope, combined with 
those of the telescope, have been supplemented by the 
investigations of evolution, showing a vital substantiality, 
as certain as a material, immanent in all nature. 

But how is it about the other side of religion, the 
emotion, the feeling, the awe, the reverence, and the 
consequent worship? Clearly it is at this point that 
Theophilus intends to say: " No vague somethings or 
nothings will answer the purpose. People would be as 
likely to love, fear or reverence ' The All ' as they 
would a tomcat." Unfortunately under dualism tom- 
cats were worshiped ; and ideas more vengeful and 
malevolent are embodied in the common conceptions of 
dualism than any tomcat ever manifested. If Calvin 
had done no worse than exalt an infinite tomcat, we 
might at least have stroked his fur to have escaped his 

But the question is a pertinent one, what principles 
were ever involved in the infinite final cause apart from 
nature, that are not equally involved in the universal 
causality within nature? It is more and more palpable 
to those deepest in investigation that nature is a con- 
tinuous adaptation of means to ends ; and while there is 
no reason for believing in a Designer above and outside 
of nature, there can be no conception of nature apart 
from design. The design is persistent in nature, and 
not imposed from without. The era of reconcilers is 
fairly ending with men who speak of "pushing back" 
their first cause as far as possible ; or, as a Bishop recently 
averred : " The world was fitted up for man's occu- 
pancy, with adequate means inherent, or supplemented, 
to meet all his needs." The God of supplements is the 
finality of dualism. But science stands here "a magnifi- 
cent reign of life and law, that is unfolding year by year, 
and age by age, is but the pulsating presence of One, 
who is over all, through all, interpenetrating all." I as- 
sert that the drift of science is to affirm a universe 
charged with immanent divine purpose — a substantial 
vital universe, which is sensible, intelligent and ethical. 
" Looking backward we are led to universal, potential, 
absolute life, ever actualized in vital phenomena. Mind 
is what all processes involve as a substratum. Nothing 
is more absurd than the use of the word force as some- 
thing blind, aimless and lawless. It is never, in any dis- 
play of it, for one moment, anywhere, aught but the 
legal, volitional, purposeful direction of energy." 

Are we to allow that there is in this conception of 
infinite, immanent, purposeful Being, no more reason 
for love, awe, fear and worship, than " in an Egyptian 
mummy"? What of good, or great, or lovable, or fear- 
ful is lost? Do we not stand related to cause and pur- 
pose quite as intimately as under dualism ? But it is not 



only logically possible, but historically true, that science 
is worshipful. The Darwinism which now controls our 
scientific thought is not the elder Darwinism that was 
absorbed in material data, but a later Darwinism, or 
evolution, that concerns itself with the science of data. 
And " science " is still " religion," as it always was. I 
have only to refer to Huxley's latest writings, to Tyn- 
dall's, to Professor Cope's, our most eminent American 
biologist, as well as Le Conte Abbott, and a host more. 
Science is worshipful; but instead of looking out into a 
limbo of the extra-natural for its worshipful object, it 
sees its manifested cause in nature; and in the highest 
manifestations it sees its true cause for adoration. Man 
is no longer the thing of a Creator, but the glorious 
presence of a moral and intelligent purposive causality. 
I am aware that Theophilus shuts down his gates at 
the very entrance into the land of love, and hope, and 
religious feeling. He does well to snip off all discussion 
by an assertion. We have simply to deny his assertion. 
To go far beyond that would involve other articles 
rather than a brief extension of this one. I am content 
to rest at this point, with the counter assertion that mon- 
ism alone can truly fill both head and heart; the former 
with knowledge, the latter with emotion. 

it beyond the shadow of a doubt, that perceptible objects 
are in all reality composed of primitive elements; and 
not segregated from a pre-existent totality of Being. 
But the unification of philosophical thought and scientific 
experience proceeds by slow and cautious steps; and we 
have here to follow its tentative efforts to establish log- 
ical consistency between different provinces of knowl- 


Part III. 

Taking the sense- revealed or material universe to be 
the proper object of speculative investigation for the 
purpose of ascertaining the veritable nature of Reality 
or Being, we first wish to know of what this perceptible 
universe actually consists. Are the multifarious and di- 
versely constituted bodies, which seem to compose it, 
integrant parts, differentiated and particularized from 
some pre-existent, all-involving totality.'' Or are they 
themselves complex structures made up of far more 
primitive and elementary units? 

The answer given to this fundamental question de- 
termines at once the main course our further speculation 
must necessarily take. If we believe in a pre-existent 
supreme totality of Being, of which perceptible things 
are subordinate segregations, we inevitably land in Spi- 
nozism or some kindred mode of pantheistic Monism. If, 
on the contrary, we believe the perceptible things of our 
world to be graduated compounds of primordial elements 
we find ourselves, to a certainty, entangled in some kind 
of Atomism or Monadism. 

The radical and far-reaching opposition of these two 
different ways of interpreting the origin of perceptible 
things is almost as old as philosophy itself. And to this 
day the schools are continuing to contend with one 
another on the same ground. 

One would think that modern chemistry had placed 

The atomic theory of matter, imported from Epicu- 
rus into modern speculation by Gassendi, adopted by 
Boyle and Newton, made to triumph in chemistry by 
Dalton, and in physics by Fresnel and Cauchy; this 
atomic theory sought and still seeks to explain the con- 
stitution of material bodies, and the manifold changes 
they are found to undergo, by assuming them to be 
composed of exceedingly minute, indivisible particles, 
moving in free space, colliding there in strict keeping 
with mechanical laws, and forming in consequence more 
or less coherent and relatively persistent groups or ag- 

It is the logical tendency of this conception to reduce 
material particles to mere passive vehicles of mechanically 
imparted motion ; which motion is thus held to be the 
true source of all activity or energy in nature. Trans- 
latory motion, transmitted through collision, is the only 
mode of activity allowable in logical keeping with the 
mechanical conception. And the ultimate elements, that 
are undergoing such motion, can, consequently, contain 
in themselves no intrinsic spring of activity. If the 
ultimate particles of matter were themselves capable of 
undergoing intrinsic changes, they could not possibly be 
simple or indivisible. Such intrinsic changes could no- 
wise take place without the shifting of parts of such 
particles; and then these parts and not the particles them- 
selves would be the veritable atoms. So we would have 
to go on ad infinitufn, subdividing further and further 
the material substratum, without ever being able to come 
to ultimate elements, unless we suppose that at last par- 
ticles are reached which are absolutely rigid or intrin- 
sically unchangeable. 

But a world consisting of rigid particles of matter 
would soon come to a complete standstill; for two rigid 
particles meeting in direct collision, with equal velocities, 
would altogether annihilate each other's motion. To 
save the mechanical world-conception from utter collapse, 
movable elements have tl"iemselves to be endowed, and 
are constantly endowed by mechanical physicists, with 
the intrinsic, non- mechanical spring of action, called 
elasticity; which inner faculty has to make good from 
occult sources the mechanical loss of motion otherwise 
inevitably incurred during direct and oblique collision. 

Then, after all — if the mechanical universe is not to 
end in motionless stagnation — the ultimate moving par- 
ticles cannot be conceived as rigid units passively shifted 
about by imparted motion ; but must — in direct opposition 



to mechanical presuppositions — be thought of as con- 
taining something -within them, which renders them 
fit to re-impart an equivalent amount of moving energy, 
for that which would be mechanically lost through col- 
lision, if they were really rigid. 

According to mechanical theory material particles 
should be absolutely rigid. According to physical ex- 
perience they must be absolutely elastic. This is the 
dilemma to which mechanical physics finds itself actually 
driven in the material world alone, irrespective of any 
attempt on its part to derive mental phenomena from its 
mechanics of atoms. And such obvious reductio ad 
abstirdum of its world-conception suffices to prove, that 
it must be a radically inadequate interpretation of Reality. 
Surely that matter which contains the "promise and po- 
tency " of everything in nature, has to possess very 
different qualifications for so exalted a mission. 

The first great difficulty which lies in the way of an 
adequate interpretation of the material universe, is due 
to the essential contrast obtaining between the nature of 
what we call empty space, and that which materially 
fills it. Space unoccupied by matter seems to be homo- 
geneous throughout, its entire being exhausting itself in 
mere extension. It is therefore boundlessly extensible 
and boundlessly divisible in conception, our thought en- 
countering nowhere resistance on its voyage toward in- 
finity one way or the other. But, with the appearance 
of matter in space, definite limits are at once imposed. 
Our thought cannot deal with such definite extension at 
will; but must accept the given limits as something it 
cannot transcend. Material bodies are certainly not 
boundless like space, nor are they geometrically deter- 
minable as we choose. 

The question, however, still remains, whether the 
space thus occupied by matter is completely filled with 
it; and whether such matter is itself, like space, infinitely 
divisible or not. The Kantian philosophy, through its 
demonstration of the subjectivity of space- perception, 
and the phenomenal nature of material appearances in 
space, pointed out the way to a solution of this ancient 
and vexatious puzzle. It teaches, that what causes our 
individual space-perception to be filled with the content 
we call matter, cannot itself be conditioned by the prop- 
erties of such perceptual space; which mental form of 
apprehension is only our own subjective mode of con- 
sciously taking in, or rather of consciously reacting 
against the influences emanating from the objective uni- 
verse or world of things-in-themselves. 

Having in the course of philosophical development 
become once for all clearly aware, that what we call 
material bodies are perceptual appearances, specifically 
aroused within our own consciousness by definitely con- 
stituted existents which are stimulating our sensibility, 
we desire to frame a logically and scientifically valid 
hypothesis concerning the absolute, non-phenomenal 

nature of the sense-stimulating existents. What sort of 
Reality or Being can it be that has power to cause our 
individual space-perception to be thus filled with that 
specific content we know as the material universe? This 
exactly is the problem to be solved before we can legiti- 
mately escape from philosophical Agnosticism, and before 
we can expect to lay a sure foundation for naturalistic 
Monism. Whoever does not see his way to give posi- 
tive information concerning the absolute, non-phenom- 
enal nature of Reality or Being is, philosophically 
speaking, an Agnostic;* and his Monism can be grounded 
only on faith, supported by plausible considerations; not 
on knowledge of the absolute state of things. 

Kant himself, in his jMetaphysische Anfangsgruende 
der Naturwissenschaft, made an effort to form an idea 
of the absolute nature of extra-conscious matter or the 
world-substance. To the mechanical cowcQ^'ixow of such 
matter he opposed what has since been named its dy- 
namical conception. As BayrhofTer's construction of 
matter is based on Kant's dynamical considerations, and 
as it is becoming more and more evident that no true 
idea of matter can possibly be formed, regardless of a 
theory of cognition, it will be appropriate to give a rapid 
sketch of Kant's view. 

He reasons that, though we become aware of bodily 
existence only in the form of figures within our own 
space-perception, yet during the direct perception of 
objects there is evidently something present, which con- 
stitutes an essential difference between physical or bodily 
existence and mere geometrical construction. This 
something is generally called matter, and must be con- 
sidered the compelling cause of all percepts not origi- 
nated by ourselves. Changes undergone by such matter 
are perceptively realized as motion; i. e. as the moving 
of the bodily figure within our space-perception. Mat- 
ter, then, and its changes are the object of our space- 
perception, but are not constituted by any efficiency of 
our own. Space itself is an empty form ; matter, on the 
contrary, a space-occupying existent. To occupy space, 
matter must necessarily possess resisting power; other- 
wise, with sufficient force, it would be possible to com- 
press it into nothing. This resistance, which matter is 
capable of opposing to any encroaching motion, appears 
to us likewise as motion. Matter is therefore as such a 
source of motion, or a force-emanating existent. By 
dint of its repulsive force every one of its parts occupies 
space, or — what amounts to the same thing — it is con- 
tinuously extended, though compressible to some extent. 
Elasticity is thus a fundamental property of matter. If 
matter were, however, possessed of repulsive force only, 
it could have no confining boundaries, but would disperse 
into infinite space. Consequently there must reside in 

♦Philosophical Ai^nosticisin is in no way directly connected with the preva- 
lent religious Agnosticism, which professes not to be in possession ot knowl- 
edge enabling it to decide for or against the existence of a personal Deity, and 
the possibility of individual immortality. 



matter a force antagonizing repulsion. This force is 
called attraction. Matter is indeed out and out a product 
of the antagonizing tendencies of the force of repulsion 
and of that of attraction. 

These are the essential tenets of Kant's dynamical 
interpretation of material existence. And not only 
philosophers, but eminent physicists such as Boscovich, 
Ampere, Faraday, Fechner and many others, have at- 
tempted, in various ways, to construct matter dynamically, 
by means of the mere play of forces, without the aid of 
any self-extended, bodily substratum. 

Bayrhoffer, on the other hand, does not attempt to 
eliminate substantial existence from the realm of absolute 
Being by reducing everything to mere force-irradiation. 
He seeks to identify such extensive force-irradiation 
with the intensively reacting individuality and substan- 
tiality of force- emanating existents. He argues in the 
following strain: 

The material universe lies open before us. All 
phenomena of nature emanate from it. It must there- 
fore include in itself the essence of Being, in which the 
ideal and the real of our world are inseparably united. 
And so we actually find it. For every concrete percept- 
ible being or thing consists of a union of subjectivity 
and objectivity; is in fact subject-object, or a center of 
interaction. The substratum of natural phenomena, 
usually called matter, is evidently replete with interact- 
ing efficiencies, which sensibly manifest themselves as 
attractions and repulsions of constituent parts. 

Of course, it is understood that matter, as it mentally 
appears to us, is merely a phenomenal reflex of the in- 
teracting entities that constitute veritable or absolute 
Being. And it is therefore only through speculative 
analysis of material phenomena that we can arrive at a 
consistent conception of the ultimate existents and effi- 
ciencies which give rise to such phenomena. The ever- 
changing unification and dissipation of material objects 
within our subjective perception allows us to conclude, 
that Being, i. e. the existent which compels these ob- 
jective appearances in our perception, is itself changeably 
composed of elements that stand in effective and mut- 
able relations to one another. For an original manifold- 
ness or plurality within Being necessarily presupposes 
an original plurality of Beings. If eternal and absolute 
Being were in verity a single, ever-identical existent, 
without intrinsic manifoldness and opposition, there could 
exist no reciprocal relativity of its parts, and consequently 
no effectuation and change, and thus no phenomenal 
world. It is indeed utterly unintelligible how manifold- 
ness and opposition could possibly arise within a self-iden- 
tical totality. Consequently eternal or absolute Being 
must be composed of contiguous elements, that through 
their various modes of interaction among one another 
are forming an articulated system of Being, whose per- 
ceptually reflected representation is the material universe. 

These self-existent elements of Being have to be 
conceived as substantial ; for mere extended form, devoid 
of substantiality or essence, would consist of nothing 
but empty space. If — as has often been done — the 
essence of matter be conceived as mere extension and 
divisibility, then matter would necessarily be composite ad 
infinitum. To assume with Spinoza and Kant the divis- 
ibility of the form without the divisibility of the essence 
is illogical; for how can there be form without essence; 
the two are ever inseparable. The matter which ap- 
pears in perception being manifestly extended and divis- 
ible, it follows that it must be composite so far as its 
divisibility goes. But as it cannot be composite ad in- 
finitum, it must consist of ultimate, simple and indivis- 
ible elements. This is the truth that underlies the atomic 
theory of matter. In speculative philosophy, however, 
the atom becomes a monad, i. e. an indiscerptible unit of 
Being constituting a center of interacting efficiencies. 
Leibnitz was philosophically justified in setting up a 
system of monads in opposition to Spinoza's single 
extended and thinking substance. His dictum : " There 
are composite beings, hence there must be simple beings," 
however much contested, remains irrefragable to this 

{To be continued.) 



Pari II. 

Translated from the German by F. W. Morton. 

All the numerous advantages which society confers 
on living beings in such a way that they become condi- 
tions of life, are yet of a different order and, though 
highly important, are of incomparably less significance 
than those factors which are indispensable to every or- 
ganism for the mere preservation of activity. The 
former are only indirectly, the latter are directly neces- 
sary ; the former may for a time at least be removed, 
the latter cannot be removed for a moment without the 
greatest injury to the living being; the former are sec- 
ondary, the latter are primary in so far that these must 
be all fulfilled before those can exist at all. The direct 
external conditions of life are therefore fundamental. 
They are basic conditions. They are also much better 
known than those complicated conditions which are 
regulated by the relation of one organism to another. 

First of all it needs no proof that by a removal of 
the air breathing ceases, and thereby life becomes extinct. 
Indeed, many languages have for "die" and "expire" 
the same word. It is entirely safe to assert that 
everything which lives, also breathes. Wfiat does not 
breathe does not live. By this, breathing must only be 
taken in the wider sense — not as it signifies respiration, 
but as it means the working over of the air received in 
the inner organism. 




This air need not have, however, strictly the same 
composition as the atmosphere which actually surrounds 
the earth. Apart from all accidental constituents of air 
— those which are of no importance whatever for life — 
€ven the three essential gases of carefully purified, dry, 
common, atmospherical air are not all demanded. The 
little amounts of carbonic acid gas are necessary for 
plant life, but wholly superfluous for animal life; and 
indeed where "l;hese rise to a certain amount they are 
detrimental. This constituent is therefore not a condi- 
tion of life for all organisms. The same is true of the 
nitrogen of the air. It can in many cases be supplaced 
by another indifferent gas, hydrogen, without percept- 
ible injury; it can also be entirely eliminated from the 
air we breathe without producing injury to any organ- 
ism. The third gas, on the contrary, oxygen, must not 
be wanting where living beings are to exist. 

Numerous experiments tried on plants and animals 
and repeated observations in respect to men in mines and 
badly-ventilated places, have shown that the removal of 
oxygen or the supplacing of this gas by another inevi- 
tably extinguishes the flame of life. It is indeed not 
strictly necessary that as much oxygen should be present 
in the air as we actually find in it. There could, with- 
out the slighest injury to life, be more or less of this 
life-air in the gaseous sea which covei>s the earth. More- 
over, the amount of oxygen — and this varies within wide 
bounds — confined in the water of the ocean, lakes and 
rivers may be considerably increased, and, at least in the 
cold season of the year, decreased without injury to life. 
But a certain quantity of oxygen is as indispensable 
to the life of organized bodies as it is to the burning of 
a taper. 

Pasteur, it is true, has asserted that there are beings 
"which live without free atmospheric or absorbed oxygen, 
Ibeings upon which the air acts fatally. These are ance- 
robias, vegetable ferments, without individual motion, 
and vibriones, with individual motion. 

But however carefully the experiments were made, 
liowever certain it was that every trace of atmospherical 
oxygen was excluded, every proof was wanting that 
-oxygen vvras not constantly developed somewhere in the 
mass and that it was consumed by the tiny organisms. 
We may perhaps suppose that those lower forms of life 
can only use the active oxygen, that is, oxygen at 
the moment of its generation; while the other organ- 
isms require also the inactive oxygen which they trans- 
form in part into ozone. At all events, from the 
fact that fermentation processes take place whose fer- 
ments are living beings, which can live for a period 
with a complete exclusion of atmospherical air and mul- 
tiply at the cost of the fermenting material, it cannot be 
concluded that there are living bodies which need no 
oxygen gas, and therefore do not breathe. It can only 
be provisionally concluded that the oxygen of the air, be 

it the gaseous or that freed from water, is not indispen- 
sable to life for all living bodies at the same time 

Why could not these vibriones consume the oxygen 
which they themselves set free, just as plants consume 
the oxygen of the same atmosphere into which they 
discharge the oxygen developed by themselves? Are 
there not plants which in an enclosed space free from 
oxygen generate oxygen by day and again absorb it by 
night, and thus live for months ? Water, sugar, tartrates, 
phosphates, which further the life of ferments, all con- 
tain much oxygen. Why could it not be set free from 
these by the vibriones as it is set free by plants from 
fixed chemical compounds that are rich in oxygen? In 
the same way this is true of the isolated living organs 
of higher organisms. If in a vacuum a muscle continues 
to twitch and the nerve preserves its sensibility, it does 
not necessarily follow from this that it consumes no 

No plants thrive without oxygen; no animals; and 
the more complex an organism is,- the greater is its 
need of this life-gas. Its importance for life is funda- 
mental. Thus the discovery of oxygen by Priestley, 
August I, 1774, marks the beginning of a rational 
investigation of life, the beginning of modern physiol- 
ogy, whose corner-stone the discoverer himself laid when 
he recognized the great similarity between respiration 
and combustion. 

Indispensable, moreover, as oxygen is to life, it has 
only one advantage over the other external conditions, 
viz., that its withdrawal — especially in the animal king- 
dom — very speedily brings the life-process to an end. 
As to the others, the second condition, viz., the presence 
oi water in the immediate environment of the body, is 
of equal importance. The old chemical maxim, at first 
only conjectured but subsequently established over and 
over again by numberless facts, pronounced for living 
beings this law: Corpora non vivunt nisi humida: 
without humidity no life. Generally speaking dryness 
is the worst enemy of organized beings. The sterile, 
parched, reddish-yellow district in the heart of Sicily, 
before the rainy season begins, forms the strongest con- 
trast with the bright green mantle with which spring 
adorns the Catanian fields. 

The immeasurable importance of water for the de- 
velopment and maintenance of life is shown still more 
clearly in the animal kingdom than in the vegetable world 
with which it is inseparably linked. The sea is the 
cradle of animated nature, and its inexhaustible store- 
house; from which come forth to the eye of astonished 
man ever new and still again ever new organic forms. 
It is at the same time the archive of the history of life, 
which even now preserves in its dark depths living wit- 
nesses, still unchanged, of long past periods. Even of 
the chalk period a few surviving forms have been found 
in it, which thus exist, at the same time fossilized and 



living. On the other hand, wherever on the earth water 
is wanting, or in the air water-gas is not found, wherever 
from cloudless skies the sun sends down its scorching 
rays for months at a time on the thirsty earth, there plants 
perish, and even the stray animal tries with fleeting feet 
to escape from these dead regions. 

The reception of oxygen is impossible without water. 
Never does an alkali unite with carbonic acid without 
water, if both are wholly dry. Much less can the num- 
berless chemical unions in the bodies of animals and 
plants — in which for the most part material of much 
weaker power is found — take place without humidity. 
Therefore, there is no living body which does not con- 
tinually receive water. 

Not only must the medium in which the organism 
lives be constantly humid or wet, but — and here we 
come to the third condition of life — everything that 
is absorbed in the interior of the organism and every- 
thing that constitutes its nourishment, invariably contains 

All animal and plant nourishment contains water. 
The wholly dry food materials, moreover, are less use- 
ful for the prevention of starvation, as are also the chem- 
ical elements of which they are composed. It is one of 
the characteristic properties of living bodies that they 
can under no circumstances continue to live when all the 
constituents of their nourishment are offered them in the 
elementary condition. Besides, it is impossible, so far 
as investigations have yet shown, for the simplest living 
being to assimilate the elements, unless they be already 
present in certain combinations, in the form of salts 
(sulphates, phosphates, chlorides), and in that of gases 
(carbonic acid gas) for plants, or in still more compli- 
cated combinations for animals. To these last, the 
albumen formed by the plants must be furnished 
already made, since they have not the power to assim- 
ilate these materials from the elements or simple combi- 

When we reflect, therefore, that animals are depend- 
ent upon plants which prepare for them the necessary 
food-materials from earth, air and water, we can com- 
prehend that all animals and plants, and likewise all 
animal and plant foods, consist of the same elements; 
that the suckling is composed of the selfsame funda- 
mental matter as the milk which he drinks, the deer of 
the same as the grasses which he transforms into flesh, 
and the bird of the same as the egg from which it has 
been hatched. 

Thus these three external conditions of life may be 
brought together in this expression: A certain number 
of the elementary constituents of the earth's crust m^ust 
be present in certain combinations and amounts in im- 
mediate proximity to the organism, so that it can assim- 
ilate these materials. The elementary substances which 
are indispensable to life are: Carbon, hydrogen, nitro- 

gen, oxygen, sulphur, phosphorus, chlorine, calcium^ 
tnagnesiutn, potassium, sodium, iron, and probably also 
silicon and fluorine. Of the remaining half hundred 
of the known chemical elements, none is found in the 
organism as a constant integral part or constituent. 
These, therefore, need not be received in the nourish- 
ment. The fourteen named suffice to produce the vast 
complexity of forms in animated nature, to make breath- 
ing, nourishment, growth, motion and perception possi- 
ble. By the union and separation of these fourteen 
elements, nature aims to accomplish the wonders of life 
in all its past and present forms. 

The principal three fundamental conditions of life,, 
oxygen, -water and Jood must, in order to be permanently 
useful for the maintenance of life, have several special 
qualities or properties. Above all these materials must 
have a certain temperature. Without heat no life. 
When the normal heat of a living body greatly decreases, 
its life ceases. Indeed, the process of animal life con- 
sists in a large measure in an unbroken generation of 
heat, namely, by a union of the received oxygen with the 
constituents of the food. But it is easy in all cases by 
merely cooling off the surrounding medium, water, air 
or earth, to overbalance the heat given off by the organ- 
ism, and thus bring the thermal process, and with it life, 
to an abrupt end. 'How great the necessary minimum 
of heat must be, cannot be stated in general terms, but it 
must be specially determined for each separate case, and 
then again for each separate function. For all organisms 
in common, we may name as the lowest temperature at 
which the exchange of matter still continues, the freez- 
ing point of water. But this conjecture has reference to 
the inner temperature of the plant or animal body, not 
its environment. When the water in the body becomes 
ice life ceases, since the life process requires the fluid 
state of aggregation. There is no existing reason, how- 
ever, why an idiothermic polar animal should not con- 
tinue to exist in an atmosphere at zero, with nourishment 
at zero, and with water at little above zero. Neverthe- 
less, this much is evident, that generally most organisms 
could not survive in a medium of permanent zero de- 
gree, and that in the warm season of the year, on the 
contrary, more forms of life will be developed than in 
the cold. 

It is likewise difficult to determine the maximum 
heat which living beings can endure. It is only prob- 
able, that in a medium of 50° Celsius nothing living can 
prolong life and that the temperature of no organism 
could rise permanently above 46° without the greatest 
danger to life. Within these limits, probably all life is 

In respect to the three primary necessities of life 
themselves, we may likewise inquire whether there be a 
maximum limit. Does death result from the reception 
of too much oxygen, too much water, or too much food? 



Just as by the reception of too little oxygen suffocation 
results; of too little water, languor; or of too little food, 

Generally, in plants the injuriousness of undiluted 
oxygen is proven. Among animals, likewise, death 
takes place quickly in oxygen gas of several atmospheres, 
although they retain life in j^ure oxygen gas of one at- 
mosphere. When the reception of oxygen is artificially 
facilitated for animals a comfortable state of rest is in- 
duced, the motions of respiration cease, and an unfavor- 
able result from this suspension of respiration to health 
is unknown. Moreover, a superabundance of water is, 
as is well-known, fatal to many plants; but whether 
there is an animal which perishes through immoderate 
drinking of water is to be questioned. By the too copi- 
ous reception of food there is scarcely any living body 
which will lose its life if the food has only good constit- 
uents, for the receiving organs permit only an intermit- 
tent filling. There are animals which in a single day 
take as much food as they themselves weigh. Still it is 
not to be overlooked that by regular overloading the 
stomach with food-material jnjuries to health may 
arise. We must here also assume a maximum limit. 
But the danger of prostration or even of death from 
too much air, water or food, is much less than that 
arising from want of these necessary requirements, or 
the bad composition of the same. 

Upon the whole, then, the immediate necessities of 
life are included within narrow limits. Others than 
the three named cannot be mentioned. Light, so impor- 
tant for the green plants, is in no wise necessary for all 
organisms without exception. Whatever lives in the 
greatest depths of the sea knows only night. Many 
entozoa in the dark inwards of higher animals, and 
larvae, in the interior of flowers and in the earth, are, 
likewise, in the same condition. 

{To be continued.) 


The history of modern philosophy begins with Des- 
cartes, who, in search of a solid basis for philosophical 
knowledge, proclaimed the famous dictum : " Cogito, 
ergo sum,^'' " I think, therefore I am." Descartes was 
convinced of the irrefutability of this sentence, which 
his contemporaries also considered a fundamental truth, 
and thus the belief in our existence, viz : the existence 
of the thinking subject, became the corner-stone of mod- 
ern philosophy. 

Kant has proved that the conclusion of Descartes's 
syllogism is a fallacy. The existence of the ego which 
is arrived at in the conclusion ergo (ego) sum, is con- 
tained in the supposition {ego) cogito. Accordingly, 
the fact to be proven is an assumption. 

In spite of this mistake the cogito ergo su?>i of Des- 
cartes still remains the true starting point for philo- 

sophical thought. The ego is the first and funda- 
mental problem of all problems. Here is the spot to 
place the lever of philosophic inquiry. And indeed the 
ego has been from the beginning, and still is the sub- 
ject of modern philosophy. 

Descartes, who leads the van, assumed the existence 
of the ego as a fact. Kant, who closes the first epoch, 
and who marks at the same time the beginning of a new 
era of philosophical development, pointed out the logi- 
cal fallacy in this syllogism. The chief work of Kant's 
philosophy is, as he stjled it himself, to take the inven- 
tory of pure reason, which would contain and account 
for all the faculties of the thinking subject, and modern 
psychology proves that the ego of the old schools is a 
superstitious notion. The ego is no discrete entity, no 
eternal unit and thing in itself, but the result of a very 
complicated concurrence, a kind of co-operation of or- 
ganic activity ; it is the psychical expression of our 
whole bodily organism. To use Ribot's words: the ego 
is not a cause but an effect. The ego in the old sense 
of the term is a fallacy. It is the basis of dualism, and 
has been the source of innumerable superstitions. 

Idealism is that conception of the world which takes 
the subject, the ego and its realm of ideas, as starting 
point. Modern philosophy since Descartes has, there- 
fore, been called idealistic. Philosophic idealism since 
Descartes found a strong opposition in scientific tend- 
encies, which followed their own direction and were de- 
veloped almost independently of philosophic speculation. 
Accordingly philosophy and science were long consid- 
ered antagonistic. 

Realism is that conception of the world which takes 
the object, the real world and its phenomena, as starting 
point. As idealism assumes the existence of the ego, or 
the subject, so realism assumes the existence of things, or 
the objects. 

Idealism as well as realism attempted to construct a 
philosophic system, consistent in itself and in harmony 
with the given facts of our experience. In their eager- 
ness to reach this ideal both parties boldly ventured 
the conclusions which could consistently be drawn from 
their respective principles. Idealism hoped to realize 
a unitary and consistent conception of the world by 
declaring that the subject alone exists. Such idealists 
identified consciousness and reality and denied the object- 
ive existence of anything which lay beyond the ego. 
According to Berkeley the subject is the All, and in 
Fichte's philosophy the absolute ego is God. This ex- 
aggerated idealism is generally called spiritualism.* 
Spiritualism explains the world solely from spirit, i. e. 
the substance of which the subject is supposed to consist. 
Matter does not exist, and what we call things are con- 
cepts of the subject. 

♦Spiritualism is to be carefully distinguished irom Spiritualism in the pop- 
ular acceptance of the word ; this latter is Spiritism, or the belief in spirits. 



Realism, on the other hand, identified objective 
existence (viz., matter) with reality, forgetful of the 
fact that many things (e.g. force, spirit, etc.) are real 
although they are not included in the term matter. 
Then realism declared that matter only exists ; and matter 
was defined as the substance of wrhich reality and the 
objects of our experience consist. This form of realism 
is generally called materialism. Materialism tries to 
explain all phenomena of the world, the phenomenon 
of consciousness included, from matter and from matter 

Idealism, with some modifications which it suffered 
from the influence of the scientific notions of its time, 
developed the gigantic structure of a dogmatic system 
•which was shaped and elaborated by Wolff, a German 
philosopher of great constructive ability. Realismj 
termed sensualism, by the English philosopher Locke, 
took the very opposite course of development. Baron 
Holbach, in France, formulated the conclusions of real- 
ism as a materialistic system, but the keen Scotch 
philosopher Hume, unable to account for the causal 
connection of phenomena, boldly pronounced his skep- 
ticism as the result of a philosophy which started from 
the assumption of realism. In materialism the unity 
of reality, the unity of the objective world which sur- 
rounds the subject, was lost. Cause and effect could 
not be considered as necessarily connected, but had to be 
regarded as two independent phenomena, and all we can 
say is, that according to our observation the effect has 
always followed the cause. Cause and effect form a 
synthesis, and the law of cause and effect, or the neces- 
sary sequence, cannot be proven. 

Thus, in the course of time, idealism and realism had 
lost sight of one another, each finding itself hopelessly 
entangled in its own premises, the former as unwarranted 
dogmatism, the latter as desperate skepticism. Both had 
fulfilled their mission. They had accomplished all that 
they were capable of, but neither had attained the aim 

The progress to a higher stage of thought could only 
be effected through a reconciliation of both principles, 
and this task was accomplished by Kant, whose philoso- 
phy, as he himself professed, was a combination of 
Wolff's dogmatism and Hume's skepticism. Kant 
named his philosophy critical idealism. He might 
just as well have termed it critical realism, for Kant's 
philosophy is neither the old idealism nor the old realism, 
and, as expressive of the Kantian 7nethod of thought, 
the best name is undoubtedly criticism. Kant laid the 
foundation for a new conception of the world which in 
the course of the last half century was called monism, 
because it truly realizes the ideal of idealism as well as 
that of realism; it affords a consistent and unitary con- 
ception of the world. 

Kant taught that only our sensations are real, things 

are the creations of our minds,* and our reason shapes 
the things out of the material of sensations, which is 
furnished by experience. Sensations by themselves, 
Kant says, are blind., the forms of pure reason are 
empty. Sensations which are not formed and orderly 
arranged by reason have no value, they cannot consti- 
tute knowledge; and speculative thought, if it dispenses 
with the reality of experience as afforded by sensation, 
is a vagary of pure reason and must be classed under 
one heading with hallucinations. 

Kant was too honest in his inquiries to jump at con- 
clusions or to anticipate the results of his philosophy. 
He was misunderstood for a long time. His system 
was admired for its labyrinthian intricacy of structure 
and derided for the same reason. He was both praised 
and blamed by men of the same and of opposite parties, 
in the one instance as the defender of the old dogmatism, 
and in the other, as the author of a systematized skepti- 
cism. He had thrown all philosophy into confusion. 
Everyone perceived that something of vital importance 
had happened, that a decisive victory had been gained. 
But as is often the case after a battle, the soldiers who 
were engaged in the fight did not know whether theirs 
was the winning or losing party. 

The exposition of Kant's philosophy came from a 
quarter whence it was least expected, viz.: from the 
natural sciences. The natural sciences one by one con- 
fessed to have attained to the same results that had been 
anticipated in Kant's criticism, and thus the greatness of 
Kant was more and more recognized in the comprehen- 
siveness of his radical and sweeping arguments. 

Monism, which is the outcome of Kant's criticism, 
considers the world as one immeasurable, continuous 
whole, and in consequence thereof demands that a con- 
ception of the world must be consistent, free from con- 
tradiction, and in harmony with all facts. Monism ac- 
cepts the view of idealism in so far as our knowledge of 
the world rests on and indeed is identical with self- 
cognizance. The true starting point of philosophy is 
still the yvuBi. amvr6v (know thyself) of the Delphian 
oracle. On the other hand it accepts realism. Reality, 
as it appears to our senses, is no mere sham ; reality is 
the material, and, indeed, the only material out of which 
the lofty structure of our concepts and the whole con- 
ception of the world is built. 

♦Albert Lang-e, in his History oj Materialism^ answers tlie question, 
" What is a Thin^? " by the foUowin,? concise statement: 

*' We pfive the name of thincr to a group of phenomena which we conceive 
as one. In this definition remoter relations and internal changes are not taken 
into consideration." And Professor Ludwig Noir^, accepting this view, adds 
(Philosophy of Langu.ige, p. 90): 

"Ittollows undoubtedly from this definition that things have no existence 
for animals; for even the most extreme Darwinian will hardly venture to main- 
tain animals to be capable of this. 

"To men a tree is a single being or thing which grows from the root up- 
ward, and has a trunk and branches ; but this is just what it can never be even 
to the most highly endowed ape that climbs about its stem and has accustomed 
dwellings and places of refuge under the well known leafy roof. It is beyond 
the limits of possibility that any monkey tribe should ever endeavor to take up 
a tree by the roots and plant it in another spot." 



Monism rejects idealism in so far as it is spiritualism, 
viz. : in so far as it attempts to conceive of the world as 
a mere fiction of the imaginative faculty, in so far as it 
explains the world from a spiritual substance which is 
assumed to have an independent existence and to be the 
nature of the ego. According to monism, spirit inde- 
pendent of matter does not exist; and matter by itself, or 
a thing which is matter and nothing but matter, does not 
exist either. But both are real; both are names which 
express our notion of certain manifestations of reality. 

Monism rejects realism in so far as it has become ma- 
terialism, viz. : in so far as inert matter, and only matter, 
is made the principle of explanation for phenomena. 
Matter is one of our concepts abstracted from reality and 
science is still at a great distance froin having formulated 
a correct conception of matter which will serve to account 
for all the phenomena of the so-called organic as well as 
the inorganic empire. Materialism it must be acknow- 
ledged is right in so far as it declares that all objective 
existences of reality are material, but materialism over- 
looks the importance of form. It is the form of things 
that makes them what they are and appear as they 
are. Matter alone will never be made to account for the 
problems of nature. 

Thus in monism, both idealism and realism are recon- 
ciled, while spiritualism and materialism, representing 
the wrong conclusions of the one-sided assumption of 
idealism and realism, find their refutation. 




Good people struggle through this life. 

Hoping for Heaven's rest. 
Where there shall be no toil nor strife; 

But all be calm and blest; 

Where all the saints who enter in 

Err not, nor ever could — 
Being, in perfect lack of sin, 

Machines for doing good. 

But surely such a scheme as this — 
Pure goodness, nothing more — 

Turns an eternity of bliss. 
To an eternal bore. 



Jamaica Plains, Mass. 
To the Editor of The Open Court : 

I think The Open Court should have a word of the Inter- 
national Council of Women at Washington, for it was a remark- 
able instance of a council where the most perfect freedom of ex- 
pression was allowed, and where the discussions were dignified 
and weighty, and must have a, wide influence. 

The speeches have been so fully reported in the daily and 
weekly press, that it is not worth while to speak of them here. It 
was not so much the eloquence and ability of the speakers that 

commanded attention as the importance of their subjects. Thus, 
the paper which received the highest compliment, the audience 
rebelling against the chairman stopping the speaker when her 
time was up, was a very solid, earnest plea for thoroughness in 
woman's preparation for the study of medicine, and it was evi- 
dently the clear presentation of the subject, and not any charm of 
rhetoric or pathos, which held the interest of the audience. 

No meeting was more impressive than that devoted to social 
purity, and I believe every heart was impressed with the convic- 
tion that this was the great moral need of our time, and that a 
higher standard of character for both sexes could alone redeem 
our society from ruin. 

The general tone of the meeting was unexceptionable, and 
was seldom marred by extreme statements or violent denuncia- 
tions; while the religious character of the council was shown by 
the Sunday services, which began and closed it. They were 
marked by broad liberal spirit and freedom from sectarian antag- 
onisms or bigotry. The Methodist and the Free Religionists 
found common ground in their interest in the welfare of humanity. 

Another point of interest was the ability shown by many 
younger women not yet known to fame. They were the gradu- 
ates of our high schools and colleges, and their work showed that 
the higher education of women during the last thirty years is be- 
ginning to bear fruit. 

The attitude of the press, of the audiences, and of the com- 
munity generally towards the council has been respectful and 
friendly (with few exceptions). All believed that the women 
came because they had earnest thought and purpose, and those 
who spoke, spoke of what they had seen and known. The very 
programme, in its list of subjects, was suggestive and instructive, 
and a great impulse has been given to thought and life through- 
out the length and breadth of the land. 

The presence of the foreign delegates added greatly to the 
interest of the occasion. e. d. c. 


Sea-side and Way-side. No. I. Julia McNair Wright. Bos- 
ton: D. C. Heath & Co. iSSS. 

This little book is unquestionably one of the best publications 
of its kind. It will be useful, not only as a reader, but also as a 
text-book of natural science for young children. The author be- 
lieves that the first information imparted to a child should consist 
rather of scientific facts than trivial sentences, and has composed 
some lessons fresh from the sea-shore and the field where life is 
seen not in an abnormal state of captivity but in its own chosen 
home and natural sphere o£ development. In concise and strong 
Saxon language the child is told how Mr. and Mrs. Crab live 
at the sea-side, how the shell- fish lives, how the bees build their 
hives, etc. This new idea of a combined reader and text-book ot 
natural science cannot fail to become an educative power of great 
value in the culture of the youthful mind. 

The frontispiece of the Art Amateur for April, 1S8S, is an ad- 
mirable wood-cut from A. Gilbert's etching of a portrait of 
Philippe Rousseau, the celebrated painter of animals and still 
life. We wish it were accompanied by a sketch of the artist's life, 
as we would like to know the true history of every one who adds 
new luster to a name so distinguished in French literature and art. 

The talks on Japanese Art are continued, and we hope they 
will help to excite sufficient interest in the subject to secure the 
purchase of the admirable collection of Prof Edward Morse for 
one of our leading art museums. 

Theodore Child gives an encouraging account of the exhibi- 
tion of the Philadelphia Academy. 

Greta writes in her usual lively manner about art in Boston, 



which unfortunately leaves on the mind the impression that she 
cares more for saying a smart thing than a true one. 

Robert Jarvis gives the first part of an interesting article on 
Decorative Art, showing its high value, and illustrating the 
thorough work needed to do it justice, by a sketch of the life of 
Pierre Victor Galland, with engraved illustrations from his works. 

The designs in this number are bold and free, and the colored 
print, representing cherries, is full and rich. 

The Flash-light receives much attention in the photographic 
columns as well as the new subject of Keranrography, or photo- 
graphing by lightning. 

A Dictionary of Furniture and Decoration, by M. Henri 
Harvard, is announced as at last ready. Mrs. Wheeler continues 
her talks about embroidery, and certainly if success can give claim, 
she has a right to speak as one having authority in the matter. 
Many useful, practical hints are given which make this magazine 
of great value to the student and amateur. 

Libertas is the title of a German edition of Liberty, a Boston 
paper, which preaches Anarchism. The editors of Libertas are 
Mr. and Mrs. Schumm. The first three numbers show that the 
management is sober and judicious; their anarchism is not a 
dynamite revolution, but the more peaceful ideal of extreme indi- 
vidualism as is represented by Proudhon. While sympathizing 
with the work of the editors, we cannot agree with their views, 
and we doubt very much whether they will find a hearing among 
the German- American public. Germans as a rule are opposed to 
anarchism, and a few obnoxious individuals, such as Herr Most 
and his friends, have succeeded in making the very name odious. 

The Atlantic Monthly for May contains a timely and fascinat- 
ing article by Herbert Tuttle on "The Emperor William." It is 
remarkable how faithfully the author has portrayed the venerable 
hero of Sadowa and Sedan. Though not in style and comprehen- 
siveness, but certainly in judgment and just appreciation, Herbert 
Tuttle's essay reminds us of the valuable labors of Carlyle. 

Thought is deeper than all speech, 
Feeling deeper than all thought; 

Souls to souls can never teach 

What unto themselves was taught. 

— C. P. Cranch. 

That very law which moulds a tear 
And bids it trickle from a source, 

That law preserves the earth a sphere 
And guides the planets in their course. 

— Rogers. 

Comes a high-born thought this hour, 

Let it from you never, 
Till you have it in your power 

Ever and forever. 

If on duty's path you go. 

And a sorrow press you, 
Close with it as with a foe, 
Fight it till it bless you. 
— Frotn the Ger.?nan of Sc/ierer, translated by Mary 
Morgan (^Goivan Lea). 



CHAPTER XTIl.— Continued. 

Thus an hour passed in pleasant talk till the clock 
struck, and Use rose hastily. " My husband will won- 
der where I have disappeared to," said she. " You are a 
dear girl; if you like we will become good friends." 

Ah ! that pleased Laura very much. She accompanied 
her visitor to the staircase, and on the step it occurred to 
her that she had forgotten her main point; her room was 
directly above that of the Professor's wife, and when Use 
opened the window she could communicate quickly with 
her by signals. Just as Use was about to close her door,. 
Laura ran down once more in order to express her joy 
that Use had granted her this hour. 

Laura returned to her room, paced up and down 
with rapid steps, and snapped her fingers like one who 
has won the great prize in a lottery. She confided to 
her journal her account of the whole consecrated hour^ 
and every word that Use had spoken, and concluded 
with verses: 

" I found thee, pure one! Now my dream will live. 
And tho' 'twixt joy and pain thy soul may pine, 
I touch tliy garment's hem and homage give. 
And lovingly thee in my heart enshrine." 
Then she seated herself at the piano and played with 
impassioned expression the melody which Use had sung 
to her. And Use below heard this heartfelt outburst of 
thanks for her visit. 


A carriage drove up to the door. Use entered her 
husband's study, attired for her first visits. " Look at 
me," she said; "do I look all right?" 

"Very well," cried the Professor, joyfully, scanning 
his wife. But it was well that everything was as it 
should be without his help, for in matters of the toilet 
the critical eye of the Professor was of doubtful value. 

" Now I begin a new game," continued Use, " such 
as the children used to play at home. I am to knock at 
your friends' doors and call out. Halloa, halloa! and 
when the ladies ask. Who is there? I shall answer, as in. 
the game. 

" I am a poor, poor beggar- maid, 
And what I- want is this: 
For me I want a piece of bread; 
For my husband I want a kiss." 

" Well, so far as the kisses which I am to dispense to 
the wives of my colleagues are concerned," replied the 
Professor, putting on his gloves, " I should, on the 
whole, be obliged to you if you would take that business 
upon yourself." 

" Ah, you men are very strict," said Use; " my little 

•Translation copyrighted. 



Prank also always refuses to play the game, because he 
would not kiss the stupid girls. I only hope that I'll 
not disgrace yo'u." 

They drove through the streets. On the way the 
Professor gave his wife an account of the persons and 
the peculiar branch of learning of each of his colleagues 
to whom he was taking her. 

"Let us visit pleasant people first," he said. "Yonder 
lives Professor Raschke, our professor of philosophy, 
and a dear friend of mine. I hope his wife will please 

" Is he very famous," asked Use, laying her hand on 
her beating heart. 

The carriage stopped before a low house at the further 
«nd of the suburb. Gabriel hastened into the house to 
announce the visitors; finding the kitchen empty, he 
knocked at the parlor door, and, finally, being experi- 
enced in the customs of the family, opened the entrance 
into the court-yard. " Herr and Frau Professor are in 
the garden." 

The visitors passed through the narrow yard into a 
kitchen-garden, which the owner of the house had given 
his lodger permission to walk in, in order to get the 
benefit of the air. The couple were walking along the 
path under the noon sun of an autumn day. The 
lady carried a little child on her arm ; the husband held 
a book in his hand, from which he was reading to his 
companion. In order, however, to do as much family 
duty as possible, the Professor had fastened the pole of 
a baby carriage to his belt and thus drew a second child 
after him. The backs of the couple were turned to the 
guests and they moved slowly forward, listening and 
reading aloud. 

"An encounter in the narrow path is not desirable," 
said Felix; "we must wait until they turn round the 
square and face us." 

It was some time till the procession overcame the 
hindrances of the journey, for the Professor, in the 
eagerness of reading, sometimes stopped to explain, as 
might be seen from the motion of his hands. Use ex- 
amined the appearance of the strange pedestrians with 
curiosity. The wife was pale and delicate; one could 
perceive that she had recently left a sick bed. He had 
a nobly formed, intellectual face, about which hung long 
dark hair with a sprinkling of gray upon it. They had 
come close to the guests when the wife turned her eyes 
from her husband and perceived the visitors. 

"What a pleasure!" cried the Philosopher, dropping 
his book into the great pocket of his coat. " Good 
morning, colleague. Ha! that is our dear Frau Profes- 
sorin. Wife, unhitch me from the carriage, the family 
bonds confine me." 

The unhitching took some time, as the hands of the 
mistress of the house were not free; and Professor 
Raschke by no means kept still, but struggled forward, 

and already held fast with both his hands those of his 
colleague and wife. 

" Come into the house, my dear guests," he ex- 
claimed, striding forward with long steps, while Felix 
introduced his wife to the lady. Professor Raschke 
forgot his baby carriage, which Use lifted over the thresh- 
old and rolled into the hall. There she took up the 
neglected child from its seat and both ladies entered the 
room with a little specimen of philosophy in their arms, 
exchanging the first friendly greetings while the little 
one in Use's arms swung his windmill, and the youngest 
learned child on the arm of its mother began to scream. 
Meanwhile colleague Raschke went about clearing the 
room, removed books and papers from the sofa, shook 
faded sofa-cushions into form, which emitted a cloud of 
dust, and cordially invited his guests to be seated. " But 
how is this.''" he said; " you are troubling yourself with 
this doll. Is it the baby.? No; I see it is the other," 
he said, correcting himself, " which will be less trouble- 

At length the party seated themselves. Use played 
with the child on her lap, while Frau Raschke disap- 
peared for a moment and came back without the scream- 
ing infant. She sat shyly by Use, but asked her 
friendly questions in a gentle voice; the lively Philoso- 
pher, however, was always interrupting the conversa- 
tion of the ladies; he stroked the hand of the Professor, 
while he nodded to his wife. "This is quite right; I 
rejoice that you accustom yourself to our mode of life 
while still so young, for our wives have not an easy 
time of it — their outer life is limited and they have many 
demands made upon them at home. We are often 
wearisome companions, difficult to deal with, peevish, 
morose, and perverse." He shook his head disapprov- 
ingly over the character of learned men, but his face 
smiled with genuine pleasure. 

The end of the visit was hastened by the baby, which 
began to cry piteously in the next room. 

"Are you going already?" said the Philosopher to 
Use ; " this cannot be counted as a visit. You please me 
much, and you have true eyes; and I see that you 
have a kind disposition, and that is everything. All we 
want is, in the face a good mirror through which the 
images of life are reflected fully and purely, and in the 
heart an enduring flame which will communicate its 
warmth to others. Whoever has that will do well, 
even if it is her fate to be the wife, as you are, of a seden- 
tary student, and as is this poor mother of five scream- 
ing young ones." 

Again he strode fidgeting about, fetched an old hat 
from the corner and handed it to the wife of his col- 
league. Use laughed. 

" Oh, I see, it is a gentleman's hat," said Professor 
Raschke; "it belongs to your husband." 

" I also am provided with one," said the Professor. 



" Then it must be my own after all," said Raschke; 
and ramming the hat on his head, accompanied his 
guests to the carriage. 

For some time Use sat in the carriage dumb with 
astonishment. "Now I have courage, Felix; the pro- 
fessors are still less alarming than the students." 

" All will not receive you so warmly," answered 
the Professor. " He who comes next is my colleague 
Struvelius; he teaches Greek and Latin, as I do; he is 
not one of my intimate acquaintances, but is a thorough 

This time it was a house in the city; the appoint- 
ments were a little more ancient than in Use's new dwell- 
ing. This professor's wife wore a black silk dress, and 
was sitting before a writing-table covered with books 
and papers; a delicate lady, of middle age, with a small 
but clever face and an extraordinary coiffure; for her 
short hair was combed behind her ears in one large roll 
of curl, which gave her a certain resemblance to Sap- 
pho or Corinne, so far as a comparison can be made 
with two ladies of antiquity, the growth of whose hair is 
by no means satisfactorily ascertained. 

Frau Struvelius arose slowly and greeted the visitors 
with stiff demeanor; she expressed her pleasure to Use 
and then turned to the Professor. " I have to-day com- 
menced reading the work of colleague Raschke and I 
admire the deep thought of the man." 

" His writings are delightful," replied the Professor, 
" because in all of them we perceive a thorough and 
pure-minded man." 

" I agree in your antecedent and consequent in 
reference to this colleague, but as regards the gen- 
eral tenor of your sentence, I must remark that many 
works forming an epoch in literature would have no 
true claim, if it were necessary to be a perfect man in 
order to write a good book." 

Use looked timidly at the learned lady who had 
ventured to oppose her husband. 

" Yet we will come to an agreement," continued the 
professor's wife, fluently, as if she were reading from a 
book. "It is not requisite for every valuable work that 
its author should be a man of character, but he who 
truly has this noble qualification would be unlikely to 
produce anything which would have an unfavorable in- 
fluence on his branch of learning; undoubtedly the weak- 
nesses of a learned work originate more frequently than 
one supposes in the weakness of character of the 

The Professor nodded assentingly. 

" For," she continued, " the position which a learned 
man assumes with respect to the great questions of the 
day, affecting his branch of learning — nay, even the ad- 
vantages and deficiencies of his method — may generally 
be explained from his character. You have always lived 
in the country," she said, turning to Use. " It would be 

instructive to me to learn what impression you have re- 
ceived of the mutual relations of people ip the town." 

"I have met but few as yet," rejoined Use, timidly. 

"Of course," said Frau Struvelius. "But I mean 
that you would observe with surprise that near neighbor- 
hood does not alwayscall for intimate intercourse. But 
Struvelius must be told you are here." 

She rose, opened the door of the next room, and 
standing bolt upright by the door, called out: 

" Herr Professor and Frau Werner." 

A slight murmur and the hasty rustling of leaves 
were heard in the neighboring room. The wife closed 
the door and continued : 

" For after all we live among many and associate 
with only very few. In the city one chooses from 
among many individuals with a certain arbitrariness. 
One might have more acquaintance than one has, but 
even this feeling gives you confidence, and such confi- 
dence is more easily acquired in town than in the coun- 

The side door opened. Professor Struvelius entered 
with an absent-minded manner, a sharp nose, thin lips and 
also with an unusual head gear. For his hair stood so 
peculiarly after its own fashion, that we are justified in 
assuming that this head gear was hereditary and had 
given the name to his family. He bowed slightly, 
pushed a chair forward and seated himself in it silently 
— probably his thoughts were still occupied with his 
Greek historian. Use suffered from the conviction that 
the visit was an inopportune interruption and that it was 
a great condescension on the part of his wife to speak to 
her at all. 

"Are you musical?" said Frau Struvelius, inquisi- 

" I can hardly say so," answered Use. 

"I am glad of it," said the hostess, moving opposite 
to her and examining her with sharp eyes. " From 
what you appear to me, I should think you cannot be 
musical. This art makes us weak and leads too fre- 
quently to an imperfect state of existence." 

Felix endeavored, with little success, to make the 
Professor participate in the conversation; and the visit- 
ors soon rose. On taking leave, Frau Struvelius 
stretched the under part of her arm in a rectangular 
line toward Use and said, with a solemn pressure of the 
hand : 

" Pray feel yourself at home with us." And the 
words of her husband, bidding them adieu, were cut 
short by the closing of the door. 

" What do you say now?" said the Professor, as they 
drove away. 

"Ah, Felix, I feel very insignificant; my courage 
is gone, I would rather return home." 

" Be composed," said the husband, consolingly ; "you 
are going about to-day as if you were at a fair, looking 



over the contents of the tables. What does not please 
you, you need not buy. The next visit is to our Historian, 
a worthy man, who is one of the good spirits of our Uni- 
versity. His daughter also is an amiable young lady," 

The servant opened the door and conducted them 
into the reception-room. There were some good land- 
scapes on the wall ; a pianoforte, — a pretty flower stand, 
with rare plants, well arranged and taken care of. The 
daughter entered hastily ; she had a delicate face with 
beautiful dark eyes. A stately old gentleman with a 
distinguished air followed her. He looked something 
like a high official, only his lively way of speaking 
showed him to be a man of learning. Use was warmly 
and heartily welcomed. The old gentleman seated 
himself near her and began an easy conversation, and 
Use soon felt herself as comfortable as with an intimate 
acquaintance. She was also reminded of her home, for 
he asked : 

" Are any of the remains of the old monastery at 
Rossau still preserved?" 

Felix looked up with curiosity, and Use answered : 

" Only the walls; the interior is rebuilt." 

" It was one of the oldest ecclesiastical foundations of 
your region, and has stood many centuries, and un- 
doubtedly exercised influence over a wide district. It is 
remarkable that the records of the monastery are almost 
all wanting, and all other accounts or notices, so far as I 
know, are very scanty. One may suppose that much still 
lies in concealment there." 

Use observed how the countenance of her husband 
lighted up; but he replied, quietly: 

" In the place itself my inquiries were in vain." 

" That is possible," agreed the Historian. " Perhaps 
the documents have been taken to the seat of govern- 
ment, and lie there unused." 

Thus passed one visit after another. Next came the 
Rector, a Professor of Medicine, an agreeable man of the 
world, who kept up an elegant establishment. His wife 
was a plump, active lady, with restless, inquiring eyes. 
Then came the Secretary of the theological Consistory, 
a tall, thin gentleman with a sweet smile; his wife, too, 
was over- proportioned in everything, — in nose, mouth, 
and hospitality. The last was the Mineralogist, a clever 
young man with a very pretty wife, who had only 
been married a few months. While the young women, 
seated on the sofa, were quickly becoming acquainted, 
Use was for the second time surprised by a question from 
the Professor: 

" Your home is not without interest for my depart- 
ment. Is there not a cave in the neighborhood?" 

Use colored and looked again at her husband. 

" It is on my father's estate." 

"Indeed! I am just now at work on a new discovery 
that has been made on your estate," exclaimed the Miner- 

He fetched a stone of remarkable radiated structure. 

"This is a very rare mineral that has been discovered 
in the neighborhood of the cave* it was sent me by an 
apothecary of the province." 

He told her the name of the mineral, and spoke of 
the stone of which the cave was formed, and the rock 
on which her father's house stood, just as if he had been 
there himself, and made Use describe the lines of the hills 
and the quarries of the neighborhood. He listened 
attentively to her clear answers, and thought the geolog- 
ical structure of the estate very remarkable. 

Use was delighted and exclaimed: 

" We imagined that no one in the world cared about 
us; but I see the learned gentlemen know more about 
our country than we ourselves do." 

" We know, at least, how to find something more 
precious than fragments of rock there," replied the 
Professor courteously. 

After their return home. Use entered her husband's 
room, who had already sat down to his work. 

" Let me remain with you to-day, Felix; my head is 
confused with all the persons to whom you have taken 
me; I have seen so much within one day, and have had 
so much friendliness shown me by clever and distinguished 
men. The learned lady frightened me most; and, Felix, 
it is perhaps wrong in me to say so, for she is much 
cleverer and more refined, but I found a resemblance in 
her to a good old acquaintance." 

" Frau Rollmaus," assented the Professor; "but this 
one is in reality very clever." 

" Heaven grant," said Use, " that she may be 
equally true-hearted; but I feel terrified at her learning. 
I like the other ladies, but the husbands still better; 
there is something noble about almost all of them, they 
converse wonderfully w^ell, they are unconstrained and 
seem to have real inward happiness and gladness of 
heart; and naturally so, for they hover over the earth 
like your gods of old, and, therefore, they may well be 
cheerful. And in spite of that there was the patched 
smoking jacket which the dear Professor Raschke wore 
— even moth and rust will not eat that! When I think 
that all these clever people have treated me with kind- 
ness and regard solely on my husband's account, I do not 
know how I can thank you sufficiently. Now that I 
have been thus received into this new society, I must 
ask that my entrance into it may be blessed." 

The husband stretched out his hand and drew her 
toward him; she clasped his head with her hands and 
bent over him. 

" What are you working at now?" she asked, softly. 

"Nothing very important; merely a treatise that I 
have to prepare every year for the University." 

He then told her something of the contents of the 

" And when it is finished, what then ? " 



" Then I must be occupied in new tasks." 
" And thus it goes on always from morning to even- 
ing, every year, till the eyes fail and the strength breaks," 
said Use, piteously. " I have a great favor to ask of 
you to-day; will you show me the books, Felix, which 
you have written — all of them ? " 

" All that I still possess," said the Professor, and he 
collected books and treatises here and there from every 

ITobe coniinued.) 


My first, from the thief though your house it defends, 
Like a shive, or a cheat, you abuse or despise. 
My second, though brief, yet alas! comprehends 
All the good, all the great, all the learned, all the wise. 
Of my whole I have little or nothing- to say, 
Except that it marks the departure of day. 
Answer — Cuk-few. 

My first is the lot that is destined by fate 
For my second to meet in every State; 
My whole is by many philosophers reckoned 
To bring very often my first to my second. 
Answer — Wo-man. 

*Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell ; 
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell. 
On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest; 
And the depth of the ocean its presence confessed. 
'Twill be found in the Sjihere when 'tis riven asunder, 
'Tis seen in the lightninij and heard in. the thunder. 
*Twas allotted to man from his earliest breath; 
It assists at his birth and attends to his death; 
Presides over his happiness, honor and health; 
Js the prop of his house and the end of his wealth. 
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care; 
But 'tis sure to be lost in his prodigal heir. 
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound ; 
It prays with the hermit, with monarchs is crowned. 
Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam; 
But woe to the wretch that expels it from home. 
In the whispers of conscience 'tis sure to be found; 
Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion is drowned. 
'Twill soften the heart, but though deaf to'the ear, 
'Twill make it acutely and constantly hear. 
But, in short, let it rest, like a beautiful flower; 
(Oh breathe on it softly) it dies in an hour. 
^«*w^r;— The Letter H. 

The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space; 
The beginning of every end, and end of every place. 
Answer:— Thz Letter E. 

Formed long ago, yet made to-day, 
I'm most enjoyed while others'sleep. 

What tew would wish to give away, 
And fewer still would wish to keep. — Bed. 

A word that's composed of three letters alone, 
•Tis backwards and forwards the same; 
Though it speaks not a word, makes its sentiments known, 
And to beauty lays principal claim. — Eye. 

There is a well known word in the English language, the first two letters 
«f which signify a male, the first three a female, the first four a great man, and 
the whole a great woman. — Herohie, 

What word is that in the English language, of one syllable, which, by 
taking away the first two letters, becomes a word of two syllables? 
Answer — Plague — ague. 

A word ofthree syllables— My first addresses another, my second is myself, 
And my third speaks of my company. My whole is the harbinger of hot 
weather.— ^/r-Z-Kj. 

Why is the letter T like an island? Because it is in the middle of water. 

Why is a dream like childhood ? Because it is in-fancy. 





DR. PAUL CARUS, Editor. 

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Translations from the most prominent authors of Europe have been pro- 
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bearing on scientific, religious, social and economic questions. 


All communications should be addressed to 

THE oiPEisr aoTJK.T, 

(Nixon Building, 175 La Salle Street,) 

P. 0, DRAWER F. 


Contents of No. 35. 

MONISM AND RELIGION. A Reply to ^'TheophilnsP 

By E. p. Powell 911 

URALISTIC MONISM." By Edmund Montgom- 
ery. Part III 914 


Translated from the German by F. W. Morton. Part II. 916 



Heavenly Rest, By Wm. Schuyler 921 


International Council of Women. E. D. C 921 


Sea-side and Way-side. No. i. By Julia McNair 

Wright 921 

The Art Amateur for April, i888 921 

Libertas. A German edition of Liberty 922 

The Atlantic Monthly for May 922 


The Lost Manuscript. (Continued.) Gustav Freytag 922 


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There are few terms in the English language having 
wider and more varying uses than the word Charity. 
Its meanings include the highest human sympathy and 
the weakest and most puerile sentimentality ; self-sacri- 
fice prompted by pure love, and money bestowed on the 
promptings of the assessor and tax-collector. State 
Charity, Municipal Charity, are common terms. Alms 
given heedlessly to beggars, and the saving grace by 
which we regard opponents without hating or thinking 
evil of them are called by the same wide name. Recent 
attempts have been made, and the present writer pleads 
guilty to some of them, to restore to charity its ancient 
and true meaning, namely, that fervent love of humanity 
which is the best motive of acts of helpfulness, and with- 
out which they are of little avail. But the tendency of 
the popular use of language is too strong for any such 
restoration of meaning. The word is permanently fixed 
in its present and common use. So understood it is a 
useful generic term to include all that is done for man 
by man, with the intent to alleviate suffering, and in this 
sense it is used in this essay. 

That much popular charity is misleading and hurt- 
ful will be readily admitted. That the whole tendency 
of charity, even that of the most ideal type, is in direct 
and perpetual conflict with the largest law of biology is 
perhaps not quite so clear. 

The law of " The Survival of the Fittest " is with- 
out doubt the law of progress in animal life. If this 
law had unhindered operation in its application to hu- 
manity, pauperism would speedily come to an end. 
Every pauper would have choice of three resources : he 
could work, steal or starve; he could no longer live by 
beggary. Those with force enough for either of the 
former methods of life would survive as workmen or 
robbers; the remainder would die, and pauperism would 
be extinct within the present generation. 

Now whether or no it would be possible to dry up 
the stream of charity which has flowed in varying 
depth, breadth and intensity for so many thousand years; 
if such a consummation would be desirable, if it would 
be right, the ethical man would be bound to accept it 
and set his face against alms-giving as he now does 
against gambling, falsehood or irregular sexual rela- 
tions, not because of this or the other individual instance 

of their evil results, but because of their general injurious 
effects on the race. 

We propose in this essay to endeavor to trace the 
ethical line in charity, and to ask those whose conduct 
is founded on abstract right, so far as is consistent with 
life among so much concrete wrong, to choose the bet- 
ter way in benevolence. 

It is easy to frame a grave indictment against what 
is called charity as it is usually administered. All the 
qualities which go to make up a brave, robust manhood, 
such a manhood as we hope for in the perfect race that 
is to be, are discouraged and obstructed by alms-giving. 
Dependence follows hard on charity ; where that goes 
labor's muscles relax, prudence forgets her forethought; 
thrift, that honest old Saxon virtue, retires in dismay 
before the extravagance and recklessness fostered by 
free soup, free lodgings, free coals, free bread. 

Pauperism is one of the great social evils of our time. 
Without charity we might have other things much 
worse, but we should not have pauperism. The pauper, 
the social parasite, is the product of poverty, plus lazi- 
ness, plus charity. 

Every time a want is supplied by a man's own ef- 
forts, the faculty which is called into play becomes 
stronger, and the recurring want is smaller proportion- 
ately to the power of meeting it. Every time a want is 
met by the exertions of some one else, the power of 
meeting it by one's own effort is weakened, and the 
want becomes greater proportionately to the faculties it 
should call out. By repetition of the former course the 
man becomes stronger, more independent, a more per- 
fect being; by constant repetition of the latter he be- 
comes a pauper, a parasite, as incapable of providing for 
himself as the insect parasite which has established itself 
in the body of its victim and has become a mere sac, its 
sole powers being those of absorbing nutriment pre- 
pared by the digestive functions of another creature, and 
propagating its species. 

It is needless to dilate on the habit of dependence; 
we at once recognize that it is the destruction of all who 
acquire it. We know that it is contagious and heredi- 
tary, so that if we would eradicate its taint from the 
children of the pauper, we must early remove them into 
better conditions. 

With dependence comes improvidence. Forethought 
and thrift are, of all the virtues, two that most need 



cultivation in our land to-day. But poverty that should 
ncite to thrift, as soon as it sinks into pauperism pro- 
duces extravagance and recklessness. 

Dependence and unthrift are contagious. The in- 
dustrious, prudent man who w^ith hard work and close 
economy has saved a little hoard against a rainy day, 
5ees trouble come to him and his reckless, improvident 
neighbor, and sees charity make his neighbor's path 
even smoother and easier than forethought and self- 
denial have made his own. How likely he will be to 
question the wisdom of his own course and what a 
temptation it will be when the troubled time is over to 
practice the recklessness he has seen so well rewarded ! 

The ill effects of charity do not cease with the 
recipients nor with those who are tempted by their 
example to become such, but extend to the general 
condition of the laboring classes. One of these ill 
effects is the tendency to the lowering of wages. This 
has not become marked as yet in this country as far as 
the wages of laboring men are concerned. To see how 
charity can affect the price of such labor we must look 
at England, where at one time, and even yet to some 
extent, the wages of farm laborers were paid partly in 
cash and produce from the farmer, and partly in poor- 
relief from the parish overseer; and where provision for 
old age was not dreamt of by the agricultural laboring 
class, since to end their days in the poorhouse was 
looked upon as the normal course of things. 

But if our system of county aid, especially in the 
West, where the presence of an able-bodied man in the 
family is deemed sufficient reason for denying relief, 
has so far discouraged the tendency of charity to lower 
the wages of day laborers, that tendency is seen with 
startling clearness in the wages paid to women and girls. 

The poor woman who asks charity, and gets it, to 
eke out her miserable pittance gained by the inferior 
kinds of sewing, is establishing ever more firmly that 
pittance as the normal price of woman's labor. Some 
of those who give charity in such cases know it is 
■wrong, but think they are helpless to do otherwise in 
the presence of suffering which they feel they must 

When the Chicago Home for Self- Supporting 
Women (which itself is not self-supporting) was organ- 
ized a few months ago, a prominent employer of girl 
labor who was asked for a subscription said : " If you 
■will board my girls for $2 a week I will give you $500," 
and he could well afford to do so, for he could at once 
have reduced the pay of some hundred girls by enough 
to make up the amount of his subscription in a few 

So fatal and inexorable is the law of supply and 

demand. As soon as the supply equals or exceeds the 

' demand, as it does now with almost every class of 

female labor, except skilled domestics, the price de- 

creases to the cost of production, which in the case of 
labor is the bare cost of living. Reduce, by charity or 
otherwise, the cost of a decent living and you decrease 
the price at which it is possible for the too numerous 
applicants for situations to accept them. 

Every institution for the aid of the poor which 
makes it possible to live at a cheaper rate or provides 
for them in old age or sickness, our hospitals, homes, 
asylums, etc., although immediately benefiting the few, 
are yet, to the extent to which they encourage depend- 
ence and discourage thrift and forethought, remotely 
hurtful to the many, and all of them do these to some 

These ulterior effects of charity are all the more 
appalling in that it is not alone nor chiefly the recipients 
who are the injured ones, but the class to which they 
belong and the race of which that class is a part. 

There is another grave evil attending charity as 
commonly practiced, and that is its deteriorating, its 
demoralizing, effect on the giver of alms. Every rich 
man who does not succeed in closing his eyes and ears 
to the facts of misery and suffering around him, knows 
deep down in his conscience that he owes a debt of help 
to those who are suffering, that he is his brother's 
keeper in spite of himself. Those who reason know 
that this debt is a debt of justice, that with perfect 
equity in the concerns of mankind most suffering would 
be abated or abolished. The wealthy man, or still more 
the man possessed of a fair competence, too often stifles 
this thought by giving a modicum of charity to relieve ' 
the suffering that is forced upon his attention. Whereas 
he ought to give time, thought and money, even to the 
half of his income it may be, to the problem ; he com- 
promises on a few dollars or a few thousands bestowed ; 
with little care and doing usually little good and much j 
harm. If he had not this ready resource of charity to 
avail himself of he would be driven to more thorough 
and more just action. 

The need of the poor and the rich is not charity in j 
the sense of alms, it is justice — justice carried to the j 
utmost limit of our dealings and including in its scope] 
our obligations not only to the individuals but to thej 
race. This justice done there would still be room for a] 
very noble kind of helpfulness, but it would hardly takej 
the form of soup tickets or the pauper dole at the office] 
of the county agent. 

But admitting all these evils let us ask: " Doesl 
charity diminish the sum of human suffering?" It isl 
questionable that it does. The amount of suffering! 
directly caused by foolish and wicked alms-giving is] 
enormous; still greater is that indirectly so caused. ToJ 
the former belongs the suffering deliberately inflicted oni 
little children that their misery may bring a plentiful! 
harvest of alms, and the wretchedness endured by thei 
common pauper in alternation with the seasons ot\ 



extravagance and luxury that result from a larger 
haul than usual from some soft-hearted, softer-headed 
Senevolent but maleficent individual ; to the latter belong 
the ulterior results of unthrift, the severance of family 
ties in the poorhouse, the lower standard of life, the 
squalor and misery of the poverty that comes of low 
wages and overwork. 

But doubtful as the answer may be to the question 
as to whether the amount of pain is diminished, there 
is less doubt as to the answer to the further question: 
" Is the sum of human happiness increased or diminished 
by charity ? " 

Contrast the dreary, pleasureless existence, for ex- 
ample, of an old man in the poorhouse, with his life in 
a house of his own, surrounded by children and grand- 
children, honored and respected by his neighbors. 
Contrast the self-respect, that most fruitful source of 
happiness, engendered by the possession of a little com- 
petence for old age, with the dull, hopeless discourage- 
ment of the pauper, even when he is not suffering from 
cold and hunger. The difference in the amount of hap- 
piness under these different conditions is so enormous 
that when we reflect that the condition of the dependent 
is largely the result of charity, we cannot hesitate as to 
the balance we should strike, notwithstanding the very 
real, although often s^fish, pleasure to the giver which 
attends upon acts of charity. 

The conclusion to which we are forced is, that while 
charity probably does on the whole diminish to some 
extent the amount of actual suiFering, it also diminishes 
the sum of human happiness; that but for a consider- 
ation to which we must come later, a race without 
charity would be happier than our race with charity, 
as we practice it now. 

This is a serious indictment, but it is as truthful and 
earnest as it is serious. It will be observed that we 
indict not the best charity, not charity as it might be, 
but charity as it is usually administered. And yet it is 
impossible to free the most ideal charity from some of 
the accusations here made against charity in general. 
With all the precautions possible against imposture and 
abuse, with the most earnest desire to aid only the most 
worthy, and them in the way that shall develop their 
powers of self-help, it is yet certain that charity inter- 
feres from sentimental consideration with the great law 
of progress in animal life and to such an extent is hin- 
dering the progress of the race. 

The obvious reply is that progress in animal life is 
not the whole of progress; that the ability to work, to 
save and to crush down the weaker in stern competition 
is not the highest form of ability. That the humane 
and emotional side of our nature demands development 
as much as the physical and intellectual. The spectacle 
of women and children dying of starvation because 
their husband and father had been killed by accident, or 

had drunk himself to death; of old men and women 
dying of hunger and cold by the roadside because they 
had spent all their earnings while able to work, and 
saved nothing for old age; of men and women dying 
of painful diseases, neglected and alone, because they 
had not saved during health enough to keep them and 
provide doctors and nurses during sickness, would be 
far more hurtful to the race in making us brutal and 
degraded, than any check to progress in the other direc- 
tion that can be caused by the demoralization consequent 
on charity. 

Sternness and repression of sentiment might be more 
beneficent and might soonest promote the ends of justice, 
were it not that the effects of the sight of unrelieved 
suffering would cause a deterioration of our higher 
qualities, more rapid and more hurtful than the deterior- 
ation of lower qualities caused by alms-giving. 

That is to say that when we are doing our best in 
charity, our ethical justification is from the side of the 
consequences to the givers and to the race through them, 
and not from that of the recipients of their help. 

Here then is the ethical basis we set out to find. 
Charity is justified by its emotional effects, and not by 
those which aie physical and intellectual. 

It is noi justified by its immediate effects on its re- 
cipients, who are always endangered and frequently in- 
jured by it, nor by its secondary effects through the 
recipients on the race, which is injured to the extent to 
which charity creates pauperism and dependence, 
lowers wages, allows the substitution of alms for justice, 
favors the survival of the unfit, and so lowers the racial 

Charity is justified by its effects on the giver and 
thereby on the race, in that it helps to develop the emo- 
tional and humane side of our nature and saves us from 
the debasing and brutalizing effects of the sight and the 
knowledge of unrelieved suffering. 

If this conclusion is accepted as true or as an approxi- 
mation to the truth, there is a very obvious corollary to 
be drawn from it. 

If we are charitable for our own benefit we have a 
heavy responsibilty to so act in relieving suffering that 
we may reduce the evils caused by relief to their lowest 
possible degree, and increase the benefits in the same 
proportion. We must not use the suffering of our poorer 
brethren merely as the opportunity for the operation of 
a selfish virtue, whether we practice it as a means of 
gaining heaven or only of cultivating, refining and 
strengthening our emotional and moral nature for life on 
earth. We must never forget justice in charity, and 
our aim must be the permanent benefit of those we assist. 

It is evident that relief given in reckless haste, is 
likely to be more hurtful than where care and caution 
are exercised. Alms given to compensate for the per- 
sistent injustice of some one else, will most likely be a 



foolish and mischievous interference between cause and 

To give by proxy and through some impersonal soci- 
ety will hardly bring to the giver a due return of emo- 
tional culture for himself and the race. The more 
mechanical charity is made the less virtue there will be 
in it, and the more it will promote habitual dependence. 
Money given perfunctorily without personal sympathy, 
is more likely to be a mere sop to the Cerberus con- 
science than when it is given directly and under the im- 
pulse of actual knowledge of the sorrow it is alleviating. 
Surely what we do should be done in such a way as to 
develop and not dwarf the self-respect of the person as- 
sisted. Help to self-help must be of all kinds the truest 
and most just kind of charity. 

It is not the intent of this paper to enter into details 
of charity work. It is enough if we have indicated the 
line where justice and charity may meet. 

Anyone who has followed the argument thus far 
and accepts the conclusions as true or as near truth, will 
be likely to look for more light in reducing it to practice. 
He will find light in abundance, if he looks in the right 
direction. The science of charity, although far from 
perfect, has made great advances during the last decade. 
Thanks to the theory of the organization of charity, 
and the association of charities, we have in more than 
fifty cities in the land societies which are trying to 
practice charity upon scientific principles. There must 
be a best way for everything, and the societies referred to 
have as their aim to preach and practice the best way in 
charity. And some such considerations as those set 
forth in this essay are the cardinal principles upon which 
they are founded. 



Although the press has fairly reported the proceed- 
ings of the eight days' Council of Women which has 
just closed its sessions at Washington, the significance of 
that congress, its picturesqueness, its impressiveness, have 
not been fully reported in any account I have seen. 
Although for more than a generation I have been an 
interested and tolerably close observer of what is called 
the Woman's Movement, I have for the first time become 
aware, while attending these sessions, of the immeasur- 
able work for human benefit which women have achieved 
during that time. There are many besides myself who 
can recall the chorus of ridicule which greeted the 
earliest demand for political equality put forth by a few 
women forty years ago. It came from a little Methodist 
chapel at Seneca Falls, New York, where Lucretia 
Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton had summoned a 
"Woman's Rights Convention." It was early in July, 
and with the celebrations of Independence day ringing 
in their ears, these ladies adopted a new Declaration of 

Independence. It was a clever travesty of the Jeffer- 
sonian document and began : " When in the course of 
human events it becomes necessary for one portion of 
the family of men to assume among the people of the 
earth a position different from that which they have 
hitherto occupied, but one to which the laws of nature 
and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect for the 
opinions of mankind requires that they should declare 
the causes that impel them to such a course." Every 
accusation against George the Third was turned against 
the masculine absolutism. " He has compelled her to 
submit to laws in the formation of which she had no 
voice." " He has taken from her all right in property, 
even to the wages she earns." And so forth. Even in 
that little assembly of 1848 the claim to female suffrage 
was warmly opposed and carried by only a small 
majority. The burning question had been, for sixteen 
years, whether woman should be allowed to speak in 
public. The anti-slavery society had split on that issue. 
In 1S40 the Garrisonian wing sent a delegation to a 
World's Anti-Slavery Convention in London, of whom 
eight were women — Lucretia Mott at their head. After 
a heated debate the female delegates were refused 
admission; whereupon the male delegates declined to 
act, and London lost its opportunity of listening to the 
eloquence of both Lucretia Mott and Wendell Phillips. 
Mrs. Stanton, then on her bridal tour, heard the debate. 
There her friendship with Lucretia Mott was formed, 
and on their return home they inaugurated a quiet 
propaganda, which resulted in the convention referred 
to and its "amusing" declaration. Nevertheless, their 
movement grew. It was for a time chiefly among 
Quakers, among whom it had always been the custom 
to recognize female equality in schools and religious 
meetings. Now, after two-score years, some of those 
" pioneers " live to see vast results from their Quaker 
meetings. Elizabetli Stanton, whose snowy hair sur- 
rounds her blonde face like a halo, has seen at the 
National Capital a vast harvest, sprung from the seed 
then sown. This Council was not, indeed, summoned 
in the immediate interest of female suffrage, but it is 
largely the result of the awakening of women to their 
public duties which then began. So much credit to 
that movement being awarded, it may be aflirmed that 
the results attained are of far more importance than any 
that could have been anticipated from the particular aim 
of those peaceful revolutionists of 1S4S. 

In the Grand Opera House, at Washington, gaily 
decorated in every part with flags of nations and ban- 
nerets of states, every seat occupied, a brilliant company 
gathered daily, morning and evening, to make and to 
hear reports of the work of women. There were 
delegates from other countries, France, Italy, Denmark, 
Finland, Canada; three accomplished ladies from Eng- 
land to report that there women have the municipal 



franchise, and are included in the new local government 
bill of Lord Salisbury. But the main work reported 
was from America. More than thirty organizations 
were represented. The variety of these, their intricacy, 
extent, experiences, and diversified operations, are be- 
wildering. Temperance and peace societies, missions — 
half religious, half charitable — training schools, clubs, 
suffrage societies, social purity society, hospitals, labor 
organizations, all had their impressive history and 
account of services to render. A small Baptist charita- 
ble mission in a remote part of New Hampshire sends 
a lady of eighty-two years, able to tell a thrilling story 
of helpful work. A lady from Boston tells of reading 
rooms for women, with a bureau of information which 
includes churches, theaters, offices, homes; with lawyers 
retained to render assistance gratis to any woman de- 
prived of her wages or otherwise wronged. And here are 
accomplished ladies from New York to describe equally 
important services for well-to-do ladies rendered by 
" Sorosis," which discusses all questions except those 
bearing on religion, politics and woman's rights. Med- 
ical ladies related their struggles in trying to taste the 
still forbidden fruit of knowledge. A scientific lady, in 
collusion with a great authority on brains, of the "oppo- 
site" sex, refuted the prejudiced statements of Dr. Ham- 
mond concerning the inferiority of the female brain. 
Another, a law-partner with her husband in Iowa, spoke 
in a way which would have impressed the judicial com- 
mittee before which some of the delegates have pleaded. 
Everywhere activity, competence, culture, earnestness. 
Emerson used to say that eloquence was cheap at anti- 
slavery meetings. The same is true of this woman's 
congress. I remember days passed in the Capitol listen- 
ing to the eloquence of Webster, Clay, Corwin, Sew- 
ard, Benjamin: since those times I have never heard 
speeches so impressive, eloquent, statesmanlike, as those 
in Albaugh's Opera House. They were free from rant, 
and, if sometimes touched with fanaticism, were always 
quiet and candid. One very handsome lady, in an 
effective address, said that if men should finally refuse 
to admit women to participation in their political work, 
nothing would be left women but to set up a govern- 
ment of their own. It struck me that this was what they 
are really doing. A hundred years ago the original 
thirteen states were in hot debate whether they would 
ratify the Constitution. Now here were delegates from 
states more important than geographical ones, moral and 
spiritual states organized for the varied service of 
humanity and to confront every form of evil. They 
have adopted a constitution, with Frances Willard for 
President and Susan Anthony for Secretary of State. 
A wealthy lady has donated to them a whole block in 
Washington to found here a great university of women, 
to train them for all kinds of service to their country. 
It was the dream of Washington, Jefferson, Madison 

and other forefathers, that a great American university 
should be founded in the federal city. It looks as if the 
women were destined to fulfill it. If these earnest and 
eloquent women, who have hitherto had to beg men for 
permission to help them, to heal where men must wound, 
should in this friendlier era form their ideal state, send 
their weaponless soldiers to conquer wrongs, establish 
their merciful police to aid the progress of civilization, 
might they not elevate the national government even 
more than by votes? Might not their ideal moral gov- 
ernment hover, dovelike, over the chaos of parties, 
over the " bosses " and caucuses, until these should be 
raised and refined into something more worthy to be 
called a Republic? That such might be the result is 
suggested by the fact that since women have been 
awakened to the condition of their country, legal and 
political, momentous changes have taken place. One 
after another barbarous " survival " has been shamed out 
of the masculine code. Women now have rights to prop- 
erty, to professional work, to colleges and degrees, 
secured by their appeals to reason and justice. Some 
wrongs remain; even great New York preserves 
the unjust law which deprives women of any control 
over the children they bear. But few of the Northern 
States preserve that relic of ancient wrong. It is cer- 
tain that such influences as these must continue, and it 
becomes wise men to consider whether they shall not 
share in this new order and co-operate with it, until the 
time shall be ripe to end the long divorce between the 
higher energies of man and woman. 

Pathos and humor have been quaintly mingled in 
the proceedings. R^mabai Pundita, who speaks Eng- 
lish, told the sorrows of the zenana; and when she gave 
the Hindu doctrine of woman, and how she brought all 
evil into the world, it was only her simple face which 
repressed suspicion of a covert attack on doctrines nearer 
home. The little Pundita must have been puzzled by 
the presentation of an American Indian, a large much- 
beaded princess, whose jolly looks did not quite confirm 
Alice Fletcher's report, that Indian women had declared 
to her they were better off as Indians than under white 
law. President Willard, as we may now call her, began 
her speech on organization by holding up her hand and 
saying " Look at that ! " We were thinking it was a 
neat hand when she said " There's not much in it. But 
look at that!" With this she held out the same hand 
doubled into a little fist, symbolizing the potency of 
organization. The fist was not formidable. Were it 
only large enough to grasp a sword perhaps there would 
now be no suffrage question. The little symbolical fist 
so held out raised a smile at first, but it may have re- 
minded others besides myself that the demand of woman 
on man is the only one that does not threaten, which ap- 
peals to the sentiment of justice. Helen Gardiner, who has 
long been an invalid confined to her room in New York, 



suddenly appeared here and made the vigorous speech, 
full of wit as well as science, vivisecting Hammond's 
statement on the female brain. To a startled friend, 
who supposed her ill at home, she answered, " I've been 
resurrected for this occasion." This brilliant lady, by 
the way, made some allusion to " the fable of the Garden 
of Eden," from which a sensation might have been 
anticipated. But the remarkable discourses from mem- 
bers of the Council to which Washington listened on 
Easter Sunday, proved that independence of thought 
has extended to religion. Many of these ladies are 
called orthodox, but I am told it is rare to find one who 
believes in eternal punishment, and that many reject the 
narrative of the Fall. As authority loves authority, so 
does one kind of freedom love another. Easter Sunday 
afternoon was given up to a succession of religious 
utterances : one speaker was a Congregationalist, another 
a Methodist, another (Mrs. Hooker, Mrs. Stowe's sister) 
described herself as a Christian Spiritualist. Boston 
spoke through Ednah Cheney, a « Parkerite," and from 
the same region came an able lady named Elizabeth 
Stuart, who presides over a " Society of Humanity." 
I have rarely heard so much unconscious heresy uttered 
by persons supposed to be orthodox. There was a 
learned and ingenious address by Mrs. Gage, explaining 
that in the word "Jehovah" are combined the male and 
female principles of deity; also, that the Dove, the Holy 
Spirit, originally represented the divine feminine prin- 
ciple. For this she referred to the Aramaic Gospel, in 
which Jesus says " My Mother, the Holy Spirit." Thus 
there were many varieties and shades of theological 
opinion, but also a prevailing religious spirit. It may 
also be doubted if so many different, even antagonistic, 
views were ever before uttered so freely on the same 
platform without eliciting an inharmonious note, or 
even a word of reply from one to another. It would 
appear that in the presence of a great and absorbing 
practical cause and concern abstract opinion is relegated 
to a subordinate position. Are we to gain liberation 
from dogmatism through the reconciling and charitable 
influence of women — who are sometimes said to 
keep the churches going? Are they to remind a 
dogmatizing world of the old saying, " I desire not 
sacrifice, but charity".? Some traces of asceticism may 
be discoverable in this Council, lingering, perhaps, from 
its Quaker sponsors; some of the leaders insist on a 
world without wine or the Havana solace, and frown 
on fashionable costumes and dances; but the puri- 
tanical phase is already passing, and it will probably 
be found in the end here, as in England, that the move- 
ment towards larger female freedom and culture will 
include the evolution of a mode more beautiful and 

Robert Browning once remarked to his preacher, 
after a sermon on nature, " You ought not to try and 

describe nature, but the impression nature has made on 
you." I have remembered his advice in speaking of 
this great Council of Women. It were idle to attempt 
to describe it. I have but briefly and lamely spoken of 
the impression it made on me. 



Part VI. 


Every disorder of the human organism has its char- 
acteristic moral symptoms. There are diseases which 
an experienced physician can rocognize by the restless- 
ness, the despondency, the apathy or the excitement of 
the patient, as readily as by any physical indications, and 
a text-book on the principles of moral diagnosis would 
have to include an important chapter on the moral 
changes effected by the use of unnatural food. Abnor- 
mal appetites can assume the phases of true chronic dis- 
eases, and the study of their concomitant moral and 
mental phenomena opens out a most interesting field of 

The doctrine of evolution readily accounts for the 
fact that under normal conditions of the animal organism 
nutritious and wholesome substances are attractive, in- 
jurious ones repulsive. In the course of ages the 
continued operation of natural selection can be easily 
conceived to have favored the survival of individuals 
distinguished by a predilection for the most appropriate 
food of their species and to have eliminated those afflicted 
with a morbid hankering after poisons. To the palate 
of a normal human child, apples, honey and nuts — the 
natural food of our next animal relatives — are naturally 
attractive; opium, strychnine and alcohol naturally re- 
pulsive. But, by a less explicable by-law of our physi- 
cal constitution, the persistent disregard of such warning 
instincts can turn that aversion into a passionate craving, 
and substances which at first seemed almost intolerably 
repulsive may become the objects of a morbid appetite, 
rising from a furtive hankering to a violent and progres- 
sive passion, which at last will overpower the resistance 
of every nobler instinct and completely pervert the 
moral principles of its victim. " No denial," says a 
British prelate, " will shake my experience-proved con- 
viction that the power of prayer may transform the 
vilest propensities of the human heart." But is it a less 
significant, or less indisputable fact that the effect of a 
mere chemical change in the harmless beverage known 
as must, or sweet grape-juice, will turn an upright man 
into a dastard and a genius into an imbecile? 

The incipient stage of alcoholism is characterized by 
an irritable impatience of restraint, making discipline 
irksome, and occasionally manifesting itself in a cynical 



disregard of politeness and decorum. Heavy drinkers 
are apt to delight in the wanton violation of formalities, 
and a certain aggressive coarseness of speech and man- 
ners is carried to as reckless extremes in the wine-drink- 
ing universities of the Rhenish border as in the beer- 
drinking villages of eastern Bavaria, and often neutralizes 
the high breeding of the most fastidious aristocrats. 

" How do you account for the custom of ladies re- 
tiring before the end of a banquet?" Piickler Muscau 
asked his British host. " That's a pretty open secret : 
so we can make bawdry," was the blunt reply. 

Under the direct influence of alcoholic stimulants the 
efficiency of the perceptive faculties is impaired, while 
the activity of the lower propensities is correspondingly 
increased. " Brain-workers," says Dr. Bouchardat, 
"should confine themselves to metaphysical tonics. Al- 
coholic drinks, at any rate, are unavailable for that pur- 
pose. Even after a single glass of champagne I have 
found that the slight mental exaltation is accompanied 
by a slight obfuscation. The mind soars, but it soars 
into clouds." 

"/« vino Veritas" is a Latin proverb which would 
be considerably mistranslated by the assertion that alco- 
holic stimulants enhance the acumen of the mental fac- 
ulties and thus facilitate the investigation of truth. Its 
real meaning is rather that wine loosens the tongue and 
thus leads to the revelation of private secrets. A realiza- 
tion of that risk probably suggested the adoption of the 
Macedonian table-rule which left a guest the alternative 
of a timely exit or complete intoxication. 

Alcohol seems also to stimulate the amatory propensi- 
ties, which, in their turn, react on the instinct of comba- 
tiveness, the latter fact being curiously illustrated in the 
aggressive disposition of camels, stags, cats, and even 
quails and woodcocks, during the period of the pairing 
season. Hence those fits of pugnacity, following ab- 
ruptly upon the maudlin endearments of an emotional 
toper. The traveler Kohl describes a scene in a Russian 
tavern, where all non-combatants sought safety in instant 
flight whenever a certain guest offered to kiss the by- 
standers, because they knew that a minute after he would 
try to brain them with a poker. 

Long continued, the immoderate use of alcoholic bev- 
erages rarely fails to result in the loss of self-reliance and 
self-respect. Under the influence of alcoholism even 
men formerly distinguished by high-minded principles 
will become capable of gross iniquities, and often try 
to gratify their morbid passion by systematic deceit. 
Men who in their better years would have scorned to in- 
jure even an enemy by an intentional misrepresentation, 
have been known to resort to perjury and fraud, to ap- 
propriate a pittance needed for the support of their starv- 
ing children or the hard-earned savings of a trusting 
friend. In the paroxysm of their alcohol-thirst baffled 
topers have carried their point by stratagems beyond the 

conception of any other passion, that of frenzied jealousy 
hardly excepted. Dr. Mussey, in an address before a 
medical society, mentioned the case of a tippler who, 
after squandering every cent he owned or could borrow, 
was at last consigned to an almshouse in a populous 
town of southern New England. "Within a few days 
he had devised various expedients to procure rum but 
failed. At length he hit upon one that proved success- 
ful. He went into the wood-shed of the establishment, 
placed one hand upon a block, and with an axe in the 
other, struck it oflf at a single blow. With the stump 
raised and streaming, he ran into the house, crying: 'Get 
some rum — get some rum! my hand is off!' In the 
confusion and bustle of the occasion somebody did bring 
a bowl of rum, into which he plunged his bleeding 
stump, then raising the bowl to his mouth, drank freely, 
and exultingly exclaimed : ' Now I am satisfied.' " 

Opium induces a physical indolence strangely con- 
trasted by a morbid activity of certain semi-intellectual 
faculties. "Wealthy mandarins," says the North China 
Herald^ "arrange their funeral rites for years in advance, 
and meet death complacently, in the hope of having 
their virtues extolled by an orator under the influence of 
the choicest poppy-juice." De Quincey and Coleridge 
owed their weirdest conceits to the stimulus of the 
dreamy drug, and the " Arabian Nights " are said to re- 
cord the visions of an opium trance. In the course of 
time, though, the enervation of the narcotized organism 
becomes more comprehensive, and the worn-out opium- 
eaters of eastern China are described as the most com- 
plete mental and physical wrecks seen outside of an 
idiot asylum. Opium and Buddhism co-operate in pro- 
ducing that absolute indifference to the approach of 
death which often amazes Caucasian visitors to the vice- 
centers of the far East. A batch of Chinese criminals 
will discuss commonplace topics with languid equanim- 
ity, while the court prepares to announce their doom ; 
and during the recent Burmese campaign a British offi- 
cer witnessed the execution of three native murderers 
who seemed to enjoy a pleasant siesta when they squatted 
down in the trenches to face the firing detachment. 
While the Provost Marshal examined the loaded mus- 
kets, one of the doomed men picked up a straw to clean 
out the tube of his pipe, and when two minutes after an 
ill-aimed ball of the first volley dashed out his teeth, his 
fellow-culprits were seized with a fit of uncontrollable 

The rulers of the Bagdad caliphate used to stimulate 
the courage of their household troops with hasheesh^ a 
narcotic still extensively used in western Asia and the 
Malay archipelago, where the votaries of the direful 
drug are apt to " run amuck" — rushing about with bran- 
dished daggers, till they are treated to an anodyne in the 
form of a knock-down blow. An extract of the same 
drug, is, however, used as a "love-philter," an additional 



proof that pugnacity is a concomitant of the exotic 
passion. A moderate dose of hasheesh, like alcohol, 
promotes a convivial disposition, while opium-smokers 
love solitude and silence. 

Tobacco is a moral sedative. The maxims of stoi- 
cism, or rather quietism, harmonize with the lethargic 
influence of the popular weed as naturally as the pas- 
sionate temper of the South-Latin races harmonizes with 
the effect of their hot spices; and the equanimity of the 
tobacco-smoking Mussulman proceeds from a chemical^ 
rather than philosophical, source of causation. Our car- 
nivorous redskins seem to use tobacco as an antidote of 
their ferine instincts, and its lenitive influence may have 
promoted its adoption among the care-worn toilers of 
our feverish traffic-civilization. But those advantages 
are indisputably offset by the enervating effects of the 
nicotine habit. Inveterate smokers endure the vexations 
of daily life with a quietude which gradually passes into 
apathy and indolence; and though the moderate use of 
the seductive narcotic seems rather to promote a certain 
dreamy enjoyment of metaphysical studies, that predilec- 
tion soon becomes a penchant for mystic reveries, and 
at last degenerates into a chronic aversion to mental 
efforts. The precocious use of tobacco is very apt to 
stunt the development of the more practical mental 
faculties. Boy-smokers are given to day-dreams and 
procrastination. In Spanish America the sight of a 
languid, cigarette-lethargized youngster is a very famil- 
iar phenomenon; and in a college-town of northern Bel- 
gium my tobacco- smoking schoolmates were character- 
ized by a certain good-natured phlegm, coupled, however, 
with slowness of comprehension and often with latent 

The milder narcotics, tea and coffee, betray their in- 
fluence only after years of habitual use, but the eventual 
symptoms of nervous disorder have their mental con- 
comitants in a characteristic sensitiveness of temper, fre- 
quently degenerating into petulance, querulous aggres- 
siveness, or its female modification, a certain lachrymose 
penchant for " playing the persecuted saint." 

" Poison " and " stimulant " would seem to be inter- 
changeable terms, for the drug-market hardly knows 
any virulent product of the mineral or vegetable creation 
which not somewhere has become the object of an un- 
natural appetite. The Ashantees fuddle with sorghum 
beer; the Mexicans with fermented aloe sap ("pulque"); 
the pastoral Tartars with fermented mare's milk; the 
aborigines of Honduras with hemlock sap; the natives 
of Kamtschatka with an infusion of the common fly- 
toadstool; the Druses with fox-glove tea. Arsenic, cin- 
nabar, and even acetate of copper, have their votaries; 
and the civilization of the western Caucasians has added 
absinthe, ergot and chloral. 

All stimulant habits, however, are progressive^ i. e. 
the besetting passion involves a hankering for a gradual 

increase of the poison-dose, and all poison-slaves are 
liable to the temptation of making their tipple a Lethe 
of refuge from any unusual affliction. In China every 
public calamity is aggravated by an increased demand 
for opiates. The defeated Turks seek solace in over- 
doses of nicotine that have completed their national de- 
generation, and in western Europe famine and war have 
more than once been followed by veritable alcohol 


Part IV. 

Bayrhoffer seriously strives to gain a firm foundation 
for his naturalistic Monism. But, here, the notion that 
a unit of Being must necessarily consist of a "simple" 
essence — the same notion which for many centuries has 
played so confusing and ominous a part in our concep- 
tion of soul or mind — leads our monistic philosopher to 
declare, that all monads must be in every respect equally 
constituted existents. Now, we can quite well under- 
stand why the mechanical world-conception is logically 
compelled to assume as original building-material equal 
units of mass; for its endeavor is to derive diversity in 
nature as brought about solely by difference of arrange- 
ment through difference of motion. But why should 
monads, which are conceived as irradiating centers of all 
manner of efficiency, be of necessity equally constituted, 
and this simply because they are assumed to be indis- 
cerptible and elemental ? 

The necessary consequence of such a conception of 
equal and indiscerptible units of absolute Being is, that 
all difference in nature would have to be derived from 
nothing but the spatial grouping of the units, and the 
mere co-existence of their equal modes of elementary 
interaction. It is, however, incomprehensible how a 
number of equal and self-identical units should through 
intrinsic necessity ever enter into different modes of re- 
lation, and how they should come to form more and 
more heterogeneously synthetized compounds, that dis- 
play most complex and unitary modes of interaction 
with one another. 

This impossibility of conceiving, how simple, indis- 
cerptible and equal elementary units can ever form 
higher compounds, is an inherent weakness of Bayrhof- 
fer's Monadology, as well as of the atomic world con- 
ception. The atomistic" notion amounts to the assump- 
tion, not that two and two equally conceived units con- 
stitute the higher compound "four," through mental or 
cerebral synthesis; but that two and two equal and real 
existents can constitute through mere spatial grouping 
a compound and yet unitary existent, essentially differ- 
ing in nature from themselves; that for instance a cer- 
tain number of atoms of hydrogen are through mere 
peculiar spatial grouping capable of forming oxygen, 



and other numbers of the same atoms by the same means 
other material substances.* 

BayrhofFer recognizes at least, that in order to derive 
heterogeneity in nature, there must already exist some 
specific difference in the factors of combination, and that 
such combination can be realized only in a synthetical 
medium of some sort. He says: "The heterogeneity 
of the materials, forces, motions and laws of the percepti- 
ble world, can find its explanation only in the fact that 
the identical monads are capable of entering into mani- 
fold specific relations ; that consequently there exist 
divers systems of synthesis, and then again divers sys- 
tems of such systems." As synthetical medium, in 
which complex eflfects are realized, he assumes a dynami- 
cal atmosphere or ether, constituted through the uni- 
versal blending of all the interacting forces that emanate 
from the individual monads or dynamical centers. 

But when urged positively to explain how differences 
really arise in his system of equal monads, BayrhofFer 
is forced to base his qualitative or " specific relations" 
on a purely quantitative device. For monads being in- 
discerptible, they can never lose their individuality or 
elemental identity in any kind of combination. Conse- 
quently, it can be only in the region of mutual contact, 
that, through the conception of a more or less profound 
interpenetration, any kind of heterogeneity can be made 
to arise. It is, however, as already stated, incompre'- 
hensible, how monads of an absolutely equal nature 
should ever, from intrinsic necessity, come to enter into 
unequal relations; to interpenetrate one another to an 
unequal extent, or to form in any way heterogeneous 

Criticism, however, is not our present task. We 
wish only to point out how obscure the conception of 
absolute Being still remains, even to the most penetrat- 
ing gaze. We are well aware that the problems here 
under consideration will be deemed abstruse and tedious 
by most readers; but whoever aspires to be a naturalistic 
Monist ought not to recoil from the trouble of learn- 
ing on what philosophical and scientific basis his creed 
is actually resting. 

Allowing BayrhofFer to start with richly endowed 
real-ideal units, or psycho-physical elements of absolute 
Being, let us see how he proceeds: 

Elemental being, though itself not perceivable by 
the senses, nor really figurable in imagination, carries, 
nevertheless, within it the ground